THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT 


William  P.Wreden 


THE   HALL   AND   THE   GRANGE 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  HOUSE  OP  MERRILEES 

RICHARD  BALDOCK 

EXTON  MANOR 

THE  SQUIRE'S  DAUGHTER 

THE  ELDEST  SON 

THE  HONOUR  OF  THE  CLINTONS 

THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE 

THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

WATERMEADS 

UPSIDONIA 

ABINGTON  ABBEY 

THE  GRAFTONS 

THE  CLINTONS,  AND  OTHERS 

SIR  HARRY 

MANY  JUNES 

A  SPRING  WALK  IN  PROVENCE 

PEGGY  IN  TOYLAND 

THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 


THE   HALL  AND 
THE  GRANGE 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

ARCHIBALD,  MARSHALL 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,    MEAD   AND   COMPANY 
1921 


COPYRIGHT,    1921 

BT  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


&  gobm  C<mq>an? 


MANUFACTURERS 
Y  NSW    J2R3EY 


TO 
WILLIAM    LYON   PHELPS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I  THE  HALL    . 

II  THE  GRANGE 

III  NORMAN 

IV  PAMELA 

V  THE  FAMILY 

VI  BARTON'S  CLOSE  . 

VII  YOUNG  PEOPLE     . 

VIII  WELLSBURY  . 

IX  LETTERS 

X  RECONCILIATION    . 

XI  A  QUESTION  OF  LABOUR 

XII  NEW  IDEAS    . 

XIII  DISCUSSION    . 

XIV  CHURCH  AND  AFTER    . 

XV  THE  RIFT     . 

XVI  CRISIS     .... 

XVII  HONOURS 

XVIII  FRED  COMFREY     . 

XIX  INVESTIGATION 

XX  A  QUESTION  OF  FINANCE 

XXI  PERSHORE  CASTLE 

XXII  A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON 

XXIII  APPROACHES 

XXIV  ALMOST 

XXV  Miss  BALDWIN  LOOKS  ON 

XXVI  BEFORE  CHRISTMAS 


PAGE 

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343 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXVII 

XXVIII 

XXIX 

XXX 

XXXI 


Two  YOUNG  MEN 

AND  THE  THIED  . 

THE  NEW  CHAPTER 

THE  TRODDEN  WAY     . 

AN  ENDING  AND  A  BEGINNING 


PACK 

353 
366 

378 
388 
401 


THE   HALL   AND   THE   GRANGE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    HALL 

COLONEL  ELDRIDGE  was  enjoying  an  afternoon  doze,  or 
a  series  of  dozes,  in  the  Sabbath  peace  of  his  garden. 
His  enjoyment  was  positive,  for  he  had  a  prejudice 
against  sleeping  in  the  day-time,  and  sat  upright  in  his 
basket  chair  with  no  support  to  his  head ;  so  that  when 
sleep  began  to  overtake  him  he  nodded  heavily  and  woke 
up  again.  If  he  had  provided  himself  with  a  cushion 
from  one  of  the  chairs  or  lounges  by  his  side,  he  would 
have  slumbered  blissfully,  but  would  have  been  lost  to 
the  charm  of  his  surroundings. 

These  included  a  great  expanse  of  lawn,  mown  and 
rolled  and  tended  to  a  sheeny  perfection  of  soft  rich 
colour ;  the  deep  shade  of  nobly  branching  trees  in  their 
dark  dress  of  mid-July;  bright  flower-beds;  the  ter- 
raced front  of  a  squarely  built  stone  house  of  a  com- 
fortably established  age.  These  were  for  the  eye  to 
rest  upon  after  one  of  those  heavy  nods,  and  to  carry 
their  message  of  spacious  seclusion  and  domestic  well- 
being.  For  the  other  senses  there  were  messages  that 
conveyed  the  same  meaning — the  hot  brooding  peace  of 
the  July  afternoon,  tempered  by  the  soft  stirring  of 
flower-scented  breezes,  the  drone  of  bees  and  of  insects 
less  usefully  employed,  the  occasional  sweet  pipe  of 
birds  still  mindful  of  earlier  courtships,  the  grateful 
and  secure  absence  of  less  mundane  sounds.  The  house 

1 


2  THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

was  empty,  except  for  servants,  who  obtruded  them- 
selves neither  on  sight  nor  hearing.  The  tennis  net 
en  the  levelled  space  by  the  rose  garden  hung  in  idle 
curves.  Colonel  Eldridge  had  the  whole  wide  verdurous 
garden  to  himself,  and  the  house,  too,  if  he  cared  to 
enter  it.  Though  he  liked  to  have  his  family  around 
him  as  a  general  rule,  he  found  it  pleasant  to  keep  his 
own  company  thus  for  an  hour  or  so. 

He  was  just  approaching  the  time  when  one  of 
those  droops  which  punctuated  his  light  slumbers 
would  wake  him  up  to  a  more  lively  sense  of  well- 
being,  and  he  would  take  up  the  book  that  lay  on  his 
knee,  when  his  half-closed  eyes  took  in  a  figure  emerg- 
ing from  the  trees  among  which  the  lawn  lost  itself 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  garden.  He  aroused  himself 
and  waved  a  welcoming  hand,  which  meant  among  other 
things :  "  Here  you  have  a  wide-awake  man  reading 
a  book  on  Sunday  afternoon,  but  you  need  not  be  afraid 
ef  disturbing  him."  The  grateful  lassitude,  however, 
which  enveloped  his  frame  prevented  his  rising  to 
greet  his  brother,  who  came  towards  him  with  an 
answering  wave  of  the  hand,  and  took  a  seat  by  his 
side. 

There  was  not  much  difference  in  the  age  of  the  two 
brothers,  which  was  somewhere  in  the  fifties.  In  ap- 
pearance, also,  they  were  something  alike,  of  the  same 
height  and  build,  and  with  the  same  air  of  wearing  their 
years  well.  Colonel  Eldridge  had  the  military  caste 
impressed  upon  him,  with  closely  cropped  hair  under- 
neath his  straw  hat,  small  grey  moustache,  and  a  little 
net-work  of  wrinkles  about  his  keen  blue  eyes.  His 


THE  HALL  3 

clothes  were  neat  and  unobtrusive,  as  of  a  man  who  gets 
the  best  tailoring  and  leaves  it  at  that. 

Sir  William  Eldridge  also,  quite  obviously,  got  the 
best  tailoring.  He  wore  a  suit  of  soft  brown,  with 
boots  polished  to  an  enviable  pitch;  the  narrow  sleeves 
of  his  jacket,  ornamented  with  four  buttons,  showed  the 
doubled-over  cuffs  of  his  blue  flannel  shirt,  fastened 
with  enamelled  links ;  a  gay  bandana  tie  heightened  the 
agreeable  contrast  of  blue  and  brown ;  his  soft  felt  hat 
was  of  light  grey,  with  a  black  band.  With  a  new  pair 
of  chamois  leather  gloves  he  would  have  been  beau- 
tifully dressed  for  any  occasion  that  did  not  demand 
a  silk  hat  and  whatever  should  go  with  it.  But  he  wore 
or  carried  no  gloves  for  a  walk  of  half  a  mile  across 
the  fields,  by  the  river,  from  Hayslope  Grange,  where 
he  lived,  to  Hayslope  Hall,  his  brother's  house.  He  had 
the  same  regularity  of  feature  as  his  brother;  his  hair 
was  a  shade  or  two  greyer,  but  he  looked  some  years 
younger,  with  his  fresh  skin  and  his  active  figure. 
There  was  almost  an  exuberance  about  him.  If  Colonel 
Eldridge  had  allowed  his  hair  to  grow  longer  tham  con- 
vention demanded,  it  would  only  have  looked  as  if  it 
wanted  cutting.  If  Sir  William  had  done  so  it  would 
have  seemed  natural  to  his  type. 

"  Been  having  a  little  nap?  "  he  said,  as  he  dropped 
into  a  chair  by  his  brother's  side. 

Colonel  Eldridge  flinched  ever  so  little.  His  strict 
regard  for  truth  forbade  him  to  deny  the  charge,  but 
it  should  not  have  been  brought  against  him. 
"  Couldn't  have  much  of  a  nap  sitting  up  in  a  chair 
like  this,"  he  said,  rather  brusquely. 


4  THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Sir  William  ignored  this.  "  How  jolly  and  peaceful 
it  is  here,"  he  said.  "  Really,  I  don't  know  a  more 
delicious  garden  than  this  anywhere.  It  would  take 
a  hundred  years  to  produce  just  this  effect  at  the 
Grange,  though  I've  spent  pots  of  money  over  the 
gardens  there." 

"  Gardening  with  a  golden  spade,"  said  his  brother. 
"  You  can't  do  everything  with  money." 

"  You  can  do  a  good  deal.  And  if  you've  got  big 
trees  you  can  do  practically  everything.  The  misfor- 
tune about  the  Grange  is  that  there  are  no  big  trees 
immediately  around  the  house.  If  there  had  been  I 
should  have  aimed  at  something  of  this  sort.  I  could 
have  got  the  lawn  all  right.  It's  the  best  sort  of  gar- 
den to  look  out  on — an  expanse  of  lawn  and  shady 
trees — quiet  and  green  and  peaceful.  You're  quite 
right,  Edmund.  With  all  I've  done,  and  all  I've  spent 
on  my  garden,  it's  fussy  compared  to  this.  You  re- 
member I  wanted  you  to  do  certain  things  here,  when 
I  first  got  keen  on  the  game.  Well,  I'm  glad  you 
didn't.  If  you  had,  I  should  have  wanted  you  to 
undo  them  by  this  time." 

Colonel  Eldridge  smiled,  his  momentary  pique  for- 
gotten. "  Oh,  well,  people  come  miles  to  see  your  gar- 
den," he  said.  *'  It's  worth  seeing.  But  on  the  whole 
I'd  rather  have  this  one  to  live  in." 

"Ah,  that's  it;  you've  just  hit  it.  There's  all  the 
difference  between  a  garden  to  look  at  and  a  garden 
to  live  ill.  I've  come  to  see  that,  and  I  suppose  you've 
always  seen  it.  I  generally  do  come  around  to  your 
views  in  the  long  run,  old  fellow.  In  this  matter  of  a 


THE  HALL  5 

lawn  shaded  by  trees,  I've  come  round  so  completely 
that  I've  got  to  have  it,  though  I'm  afraid  I  can't 
have  it  to  walk  straight  out  of  the  house  onto,  and  to 
look  at  from  my  windows.  But  there's  that  four-acre 
field — Barton's  Close — down  by  the  wood.  I  want  to 
bring  that  in — I  suppose  you'll  have  no  objection.  By 
thinning  out  a  bit,  so  as  to  leave  some  of  the  bigger 
trees  isolated,  and  planting  judiciously,  I  can  get  the 
effect  there." 

"  Rather  a  pity  to  cut  up  old  pasture,  isn't  it? 
And  it  must  be  half  a  mile  from  the  house." 

"  Oh,  nothing  like  as  much  as  that — not  more 
than  five  hundred  yards,  I  should  say.  I  wish 
it  were  nearer;  but  it  will  be  effective  to  lead 
down  to  it  by  a  path  through  the  corner  of 
the  wood.  You'll  come  upon  a  charming,  restful,  re- 
tired place  that  you  hadn't  been  expecting.  I  only 
wish  the  lake  had  been  closer,  so  as  to  have  brought 
that  in ;  but  I  think  we  could  get  a  vista  by  cutting 
down  a  few  trees.  I  might  ask  you  to  consider  that 
later  on;  but  we'd  better  see  how  the  lawn  turns  out 
first." 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  want  to  cut  down  trees  there, 
William.  Whatever  distance  Barton's  Close  may  be 
from  the  Grange,  the  lake  is  certainly  over  a  mile.  You 
jCan't  turn  the  whole  place  into  a  garden.  As  it  is,  it's 
overweighted.  You've  got  to  consider  the  future.  It 
would  have  been  all  right  if  poor  Hugo  had  lived.  He'd 
have  succeeded  me  here,  and  I  suppose  Norman  would 
have  gone  on  living  at  the  Grange  after  you." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  old  fellow,  but—" 


6  THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  Let  me  finish.  When  I  die,  and  you  or  Norman 
come  here,  Cynthia  and  the  girls  will  have  to  live  at  the 
Grange.  It's  much  too  big  a  place  for  them  already. 
I  dare  say  you'd  get  a  big  rent  for  it ;  but  that's  not 
what  they'll  want.  They  would  have  had  enough  to  live 
on  there  as  it  used  to  be;  but  with  the  way  things  are 
going  now  it'll  be  a  place  that  will  want  a  lot  of  keep- 
ing up.  It  will  want  a  good  deal  more  keeping  up  than 
this." 

"  Of  course  you're  right  to  think  about  the  future, 
old  fellow."  Sir  William  spoke  more  slowly,  leaning 
forward  in  his  chair  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
tapping  his  stick  on  the  turf.  "  I've  thought  about  it  a 
good  deal,  too.  Things  are  altered  now — unfortu- 
nately. I  come  into  it  more,  don't  I? — I  and  Norman." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  Still,  I'm  not  an  old  man  yet. 

And  Cynthia It's  not  out  of  the  question. 

.  .  .  But  we  needn't  think  of  that.  The  chances  are 
you'll  succeed  me.  But  for  a  good  many  years  yet — 
in  the  ordinary  way — I  shall  be  here  at  Hayslope, 
and—" 

He  did  not  finish,  and  Sir  William  did  not  help  him 
out.  He  frowned  a  little  as  he  sat  looking  down  on  the 
grass  and  tapping  his  stick,  but  there  was  no  alteration 
in  the  kindly  tone  of  his  speech  when  he  said  after  a 
time :  "  If  Cynthia  bears  you  another  son,  nobody  will 
be  more  pleased  than  I  shall.  Some  people  might  think 
I  didn't  mean  that,  but  you  know  better.  That's  why 
we  can  talk  over  the  future  between  us  without  misun- 
derstanding one  another." 

Colonel  Eldridge  stirred  in  his  seat.    "  Oh,  yes,  Bill," 


THE  HALL  7 

he  said.  "  You  don't  want  to  step  into  my  shoes  yet 
a  while.  I  know  that  well  enough.  You  will  step  into 
them  soone-r  or  later.  I  know  that,  too.  We  shan't 
have  any  more  children.  And  as  for  what's  to  come 
after  us,  Norman  will  make  a  better  squire  of  Hayslope 
than  poor  Hugo  could  have  done.  I  wouldn't  say  so 
to  Cynthia — I  don't  know  that  I'd  say  it  to  anybody 
but  you — but  I've  come  to  see  that  the  poor  fellow 
had  made  too  much  of  a  mess  of  things  for  us  to  have 
hoped  that  he'd  ever  pull  up.  I  feel  no  bitterness 
against  him — God  knows.  I  did;  but  that's  all  wiped 
out.  I  loved  him  when  he  was  a  little  fellow,  and  I  never 
really  left  off  loving  him,  though  Ire  brought  me  a  lot 
of  trouble.  Now  I'm  free  to  love  his  memory.  He  did 
well  at  the  end." 

"  Oh,  yes.  You  can  be  proud  of  him.  There  was 
lots  of  good  in  him,  and  it  came  out  at  the  last.  No 
need  to  think  about  all  the  rest.  I  haven't  thought 
about  it  for  a  long  time."  , 

"  Well,  I've  got  to  think  of  it  occasionally,  I'm 
afraid.  Things  are  still  difficult  because  of  poor 
Hugo.  But—" 

"  Look  here,  old  fellow — why  don't  you  let  me  wipe  all 
that  off?  I  can  do  it  without  bothering  myself  in  the 
least." 

"  Thanks,  Bill,  you're  very  good.  But  I'll  bear  my 
own  burdens." 

"Between  you  and  me — what  is  there  to  quibble 
about?  I've  been  lucky  in  life.  But  you're  a  better 
man  than  I  am,  when  all's  said  and  done.  And  you're 
the  head  of  the  family.  We  ought  to  stand  together 


8  THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

— 'specially  now,  when  I'm  almost  in  the  same  position 
towards  you  as  Hugo  was,  you  might  say.  Take  it  as 
done  for  Hayslope.  In  a  way,  I'm  as  much  interested 
in  the  place  as  you  are." 

"  Thanks,  William,  but  this  is  a  personal  matter. 
Most  of  my  income  comes  from  the  place,  but  I'm  only 
tenant  for  life.  I've  got  to  make  good  on  my  own 
account.  It  means  a  bit  of  skimping,  but  that's  all. 
There's  enough  for  me  and  Cynthia  and  the  girls,  arid 
I'll  hand  over  Hayslope  to  you,  or  whoever  it  may  be, 
as  I  received  it  from  our  father." 

"  Well,  I  won't  press  you.  But  you  know  at  any 
time  that  the  money's  there  if  you  want  it,  and  you'll 
give  me  pleasure  if  you'll  take  it.  What's  money  be- 
tween you  and  me?  I've  been  in  the  way  of  making  it 
and  you  haven't.  There  you  have  it  in  a  nutshell.  But 
after  all,  I'm  not  a  money-grubber.  I  only  care  for  it 
for  what  it  will  bring.  It's  at  your  service  any  time, 
Edmund — five  thousand,  ten  thousand — whatever  you 
want  to  clear  off  that  old  trouble.  Take  it  from  me, 
that  you'll  be  doing  me  a  real  pleasure  if  you'll  ask  for 
it  at  any  time.  Are  you  coming  over  to  tea?  I  prom- 
ised Eleanor  I'd  get  back.  I  think  there'll  be  some 
people  from  the  Castle." 

He  rose  from  his  seat.  Colonel  Eldridge  retained 
his.  "  I  don't  think  I'll  come,  thanks,"  he  said,  with  a 
slight  frown.  "  I  don't  particularly  care  about  meeting 
people  from  the  Castle." 

Sir  William  looked  away.  There  was  a  slight  frown 
on  his  face  now,  but  not  of  annoyance.  "  I  know  it's 
rather  difficult  for  you,"  he  said.  "  But  wouldn't  it  be 


THE  HALL  9 

better  to  face  it?  You  must  meet  them  sooner  or  later. 
And  as  far  as  they  are  concerned,  it's  all  over.  There'd 
be  no  real  awkwardness.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  don't 
think  that  the  Crowboroughs  are  coming  themselves. 
It's  the  Branchleys — who  are  staying  with  them.  If 
they  do  come,  there'd  be  more  or  less  of  a  crowd — with 
all  the  young  people.  You'd  get  over  the  first  meeting, 
and  then  it  would  all  be  buried," 

"  I  know  I've  got  to  meet  them  some  time  or  other. 
I  know  that  Crowborough  did  have  cause  for  com- 
plaint against  Hugo.  But  he  went  much  too  far,  and  I 
can  never  forget  it,  now  the  poor  boy's  dead." 

"  You  couldn't  have  forgotten  it  if  he  hadn't  taken 
back  the  worst  of  what  he  accused  Hugo  of.  I  admit 
that.  But  he  did  take  it  back,  didn't  he?  " 

"Well,  did  he?  That's  what  I'm  not  so  sure  about. 
I've  got  to  behave  as  if  he  did — I  know  that.  If  we 
were  to  have  it  out  together  again,  there's  likely  to  be 
such  a  row  that  we  should  be  enemies  for  life.  I  don't 
want  that,  for  the  sake  of  Cynthia  and  the  girls.  I 
suppose  he  doesn't  want  it,  either,  or  he  wouldn't  have 
tried  to  mend  the  row  we  did  have." 

"But,  surely—" 

"  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say.  He  wrote  and 
said  he'd  never  intended  to  accuse  Hugo  of  swindling 
young  Horsham.  It  was  the  way  I'd  taken  what  he 
did  say  that  made  him  lose  his  temper  and  go  farther 
than  he'd  meant  to.  That's  all  very  well.  But  he 
didn't  withdraw  the  charge." 

There  was  a  look  of  perplexity  on  Sir  William's 
face  as  he  stood  by  his  brother,  preparing  to  leave  him, 


10    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

but  not  to  leave  the  discussion  into  which  they  had  so 
lightly  drifted  with  a  ragged  edge  of  uncertainty. 
"  Poor  Hugo !  "  he  said.  "  He  made  trouble  for  you, 
Edmund — for  all  of  us.  It's  all  forgiven  and  ought  to 
be  forgotten.  But  where  it  remains  alive  it  ought  to 
be  faced,  oughtn't  it?  He  did  lead  Jim  Horsham  into 
bad  ways.  You've  admitted  as  much  as  that." 

"  Yes,  I  did  admit  it.  It  was  bad  enough.  But  to 
say  that  a  son  of  mine  cheated  a  brother  officer  out  of 
a  large  sum  of  money — !  That  was  the  accusation." 

"  Crowborough  made  it  when  he  was  worked  up 
about  what  he  had  discovered,  and  he  withdrew  it." 

It  was  Colonel  Eldridge  who  ended  the  discussion, 
and  allowed  his  brother  to  go  free.  "  Well,  that's  what 
we  began  with,"  he  said.  "  I'm  ready  to  act  on  the 
supposition  that  he  did  withdraw  it.  But  I  don't  feel 
inclined  to  meet  him  this  afternoon,  William.  Thanks 
all  the  same." 

Sir  William  took  his  departure.  His  brother 
watched  his  smart,  alert  figure  crossing  the  lawn,  until 
it  was  lost  among  the  trees  at  the  bottom  of  the  gar- 
den. Then  he  rose  and  sauntered  slowly  towards  the 
house,  and  his  face  was  thoughtful  and  disturbed — 
more  disturbed  than  the  previous  conversation  might 
have  seemed  to  warrant. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    GRANGE 

SIR  WILLIAM  ELDRIDGE,  with  a  step  wonderfully  light 
and  quick  for  a  man  of  his  years  and  weight,  came  out 
of  his  brother's  garden  by  a  gate  that  led  to  a  wood- 
land path,  and  so  down  a  long  slope  under  the  thick 
shade  of  trees,  till  the  wood  gave  place  to  an  open 
meadow  bordered  by  a  placid-flowing  stream — almost 
a  river.  The  meadow  sloped  up  to  the  high  woods 
which  enclosed  it  in  a  long  crescent,  but  on  the  other 
side  of  the  stream  was  open  grass-land,  with  lines  of 
willows  here  and  there,  dykes,  and  little  bits  of  wooden 
fences.  Cattle  were  dotted  all  over  it,  feeding  peace- 
fully in  the  hot  afternoon  sunshine,  or  recumbent  on 
the  rich  turf.  In  the  distance  were  more  woods,  and 
where  the  river  took  a  turn  and  followed  the  contour 
of  the  hill  in  front,  it  was  seen  to  be  flowing  towards 
a  lake  of  considerable  size,  to  judge  by  the  growth  of 
the  trees  which  encircled  and  hid  all  but  the  nearer 
end  of  it. 

The  river  path  continued  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
or  so,  and  then  once  more  became  a  woodland  path, 
turning  sharply  to  the  left  and  rising  more  steeply 
than  it  had  dropped  in  the  other  wood.  The  exit  there 
had  been  by  a  stile,  not  as  firm  as  it  might  have  been 
under  the  weight  of  a  big  man.  But  this  entrance  was 
by  a  closely  fitting  gate,  and  a  new  solid  fence  ran 

11 


12    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

away  to   right   and  left   of  it,  gate  and  fence   alike 
carrying  an  elaborate  wire  defence  against  rabbits. 

Sir  William  climbed  the  steep  path,  slowly,  but  not, 
apparently,  because  of  any  necessity  to  save  his  breath. 
He  looked  to  right  and  left  of  him  with  interest  at  the 
plantings  of  shrubs  and  flowers  and  ferns  that  had 
been  made  in  clearings  under  the  trees.  On  the  outside 
this  was  a  thick  wood,  as  the  other  had  been ;  but  once 
through  the  gate  it  was  seen  to  be  a  garden,  full  of 
interest  and  surprise.  Little  winding  paths  led  off  from 
the  main  ascent,  and  Sir  William  followed  one  or  two 
of  these  to  look  at  some  treasure  that  he  had  estab- 
lished, and  lingered  over  it  as  if  his  chief  interest  in 
life  were  the  planting  and  the  growth  of  flowers. 

The  steep  path  became  a .  rocky  staircase,  which 
emerged  from  the  wood  into  an  elaborate  rock  garden, 
so  artfully  constructed  that  it  seemed  almost  a  natural 
outcrop  from  the  leafy  soil.  On  the  further  side  the 
trees  closed  in  on  it  again,  but  they  had  been  still 
further  thinned  out  here  and  did  not  conceal  the  arti- 
ficially flat  expanse  of  tennis  and  croquet  lawn  upon 
which  the  path  came  somewhat  too  suddenly.  Imme- 
diately beyond  the  lawn  was  a  house — a  long  rambling 
structure  of  many-gabled  red  brick  and  tile,  with  rose- 
covered  verandas,  loggias,  pergolas,  and  all  the  para- 
phernalia of  a  rich  man's  country  cottage.  The  orig- 
inal house,  of  a  date  somewhere  about  the  seventies, 
was  ugly  enough,  and  had  never  pretended  to  be  a 
cottage;  and  the  additions,  though  in  much  better 
architectural  taste,  were  incongruous  to  it.  But  it 
might  have  been  supposed,  even  from  an  outside  view, 


THE  GRANGE  13 

that  everything  about  this  house  would  be  of  the 
highest  possible  convenience  for  a  life  of  country 
pleasure,  and  that  if  anything  should  occur  to  its 
occupants  that  would  improve  its  amenities  in  this  re- 
spect it  would  promptly  be  supplied. 

Four  young  people  were  playing  lawn  tennis,  and 
four  older  people  were  playing  croquet,  as  Sir  William 
came  within  sight  of  the  lawn,  and  on  the  broad  pil- 
lared veranda  which  finished  off  the  house  at  this  end 
other  people  were  sitting,  and  servants  were  arranging 
tea-tables.  House  and  garden  seemed  to  be  fulfiling 
their  purpose  with  these  groups  of  people  laughing 
and  talking  and  playing  games  in  the  summer  after- 
noon, and  everything  at  hand  to  enhance  their  enjoy- 
ment. Sir  William's  face  lightened  as  he  waved  his 
greetings.  He  loved  these  lively  gatherings  of  the 
summer  time.  He  had  something  to  offer  at  Hayslope 
Grange  that  people  found  it  worth  while  to  seek  out 
and  enjoy.  There  was  more  coming  and  going  be- 
tween the  Grange  and  Pershore  Castle,  the  Earl  of 
Crowborough's  seat  five  miles  away,  than  between  the 
Castle  and  Hayslope  Hall,  although  the  two  families 
had  run  neck  and  neck  in  this  part  of  the  country  for 
generations,  and  intimacy  had  established  itself  be- 
tween their  two  houses  almost  to  the  exclusion  of 
others. 

It  was  with  Lord  Crowborough  that  Sir  William 
walked  down  to  the  meadow  which  he  wanted  to  bring 
into  his  garden,  while  the  rest  of  the  party  were  still 
busy  round  the  tea-tables.  Lord  Crowborough  was  a 
man  of  sixty,  heavy  in  bulk  and  somewhat  heavy  in 


14    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

demeanour,  though  with  a  kindly  expression  of  face 
and  of  speech  that  relieved  him  of  the  charge  of  pom- 
posity. He  was  disturbed,  it  appeared,  at  the  coolness 
that  had  arisen  between  him  and  his  old  friend  and 
neighbour,  Edmund  Eldridge,  and  wanted  a  word  about 
it  alone  with  Sir  William,  **  Such  old  friends !  "  was 
the  burden  of  his  regrets.  And  he  enlarged  on  it: 
*'  Surely  such  old  friends  ought  to  be  able  to  speak 
freely  to  one  another — even  lose  their  tempers;  we 
both  did  that,  but  surely — " 

Sir  William  was  more  silent  under  the  complaints 
than  would  have  seemed  to  be  natural  to  him.  "  It  was 
the  charge  of  swindling,"  he  said  rather  shortly. 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  said  Lord  Crowborough.  "  After 
all  your  kindness,  one  doesn't  want — " 

"  Never  mind  about  that,"  Sir  William  interrupted 
him  almost  peremptorily.  There  was  a  hint  in  his 
manner  that  spoke  of  another  man  than  the  one  who 
grew  his  flowers  and  welcomed  his  friends  at  Hayslope 
Grange.  Lord  Crowborough,  some  years  older,  and  of 
greater  apparent  importance,  seemed  to  bow  to  it.  "  I 
know  it  was  never  to  be  mentioned,"  he  said,  apologet- 
ically. "  Very  well.  But  really,  you  know,  William — ! 
Well,  the  poor  fellow's  dead;  but  he  was  an  out  and 
out  wrong  'un.  I  did  do  my  best  to  hush  it  all  up. 
Edmund  must  know  that.  If  it  had  come  out  he'd 
have  been  kicked  out  of  the  regiment.  I  should  think 
he  must  know  that,  too,  if  he  thinks  straight  about  it 
at  all." 

"  Perhaps  he  doesn't  think  quite  straight  about  it, 
poor  old  chap!  You  can  hardly  blame  him.  As  far 


THE  GRANGE  15 

as  I'm  concerned  I'm  going  to  do  all  I  can  to  encourage 
him  to  think  that  Hugo  was  just  sowing  his  wild  oats, 
and  that  he'd  have  settled  down  to  be  a  credit  to  his 
name.  I'm  afraid  it  isn't  true,  but  surely  it's  a  good 
thing  if  Edmund  can  think  so." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  quite  agree.  Poor  old  fellow !  I'll  ask 
him  to  dine.  I  remember  him  quite  well  as  a  little  fel- 
low— you  too,  of  course.  I  believe  I  was  even  a  sort 
of  hero  of  his  when  I  was  a  big  boy  and  he  was  a  little 
one." 

Sir  William  laughed.  "  Of  course  you  were,"  he 
said.  "  I  think  t'hat's  the  line  to  go  on,  you  know.  Old 
times,  and  all  that.  At  least,  I  shouldn't  mention  the 
affair  again,  if  I  were  you.  Treat  him  with — well, 
affection.  I  know  you  feel  that  for  him.  The  row  will 
pass  over.  He's  sore  all  round.  He's  sore  about  Hugo. 
He's  a  little  sore  about  my  stepping  into  the  position 
of  heir  to  him — though,  goodness  knows,  I've  no  wish 
to  change  places  with  him  in  any  way." 

"  No,  you've  made  yourself  a  bigger  man  than  he  is." 

"  Well,  that's  as  may  be.  Anyhow,  I'm  in  a  different 
line  altogether.  He's  nothing  to  be  sore  about  there; 
and  we  stick  together.  I  can  help  him  in  lots  of  ways, 
if  he'll  let  me." 

"  He's  stiff  about  things ;  he's  got  stiffer  as  he's  got 
older." 

*'  Yes,,  that's  true.  He's  the  military  type ;  and  going 
back  to  his  old  job  during  the  war  has  brought  it  out 
in  him,  more  than  ever.  Still,  I  know  well  enough  how 
to  deal  with  men  of  that  sort — had  lots  of  practice  at 
it  lately.  And  Edmund's  my  brother.  I'm  fond  of 


16    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

him.  In  some  ways  I  look  up  to  him ;  he's  straight  anid 
honest  as  the  day.  And  he's  affectionate,  too,  under 
his  stiffness.  You  can't  drive  him,  but  you  can  lead 
him,  if  you're  careful  in  the  way  you  do  it.  Hold  out  a 
hand  to  him,  Crowborough.  He'll  respond  all  right, 
and  you'll  soon  git  rid  of  that  soreness." 

They  strolled  back  to  the  upper  garden  together, 
and  Lord  Crowborough  lost  no  time  in  goading  his 
wife  into  asking  Mrs.  Eldridge  to  dine.  It  was  neces- 
sary to  detach  her  from  the  side  of  Lady  Eldridge 
and  draw  her  a  little  aside,  and  it  was  plain  to  every- 
body that  something  in  the  way  of  pressure  was  being 
exercised.  Lady  Crowborough  did  not  want  to  invite 
the  Eldridges.  She  was  more  incensed  against  Colonel 
Eldridge  than  her  husband,  and  had  no  memory  of 
intimacies  of  early  childhood  to  soften  her  towards 
him.  However,  she  obeyed  her  husband,  as  a  good  wife 
should.  She  had  not  yet  had  any  conversation  with 
Mrs.  Eldridge,  and  might  even  have  been  supposed  to 
have  avoided  her.  But  she  went  straight  up  to  her 
and  said :  "  We  haven't  really  seen  anything  of  each 
other  for  months.  I  wish  you  and  your  husband  and 
Pamela  would  come  over  and  dine  to-morrow  evening. 
Lord  and  Lady  Branchley  aren't  going  until  Tuesday, 
and  I've  asked  the  Hobkirks  and  one  or  two  other 
people." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  looked  up  at  her  from  the  cushioned 
chair  in  which  she  was  sitting,  so  very  much  at  her 
ease,  showing  the  neatest  feet  and  ankles  under  her 
short-skirted  summer  frock.  A  wonderful  woman  for 
her  age,  it  was  the  custom  to  say  of  her.  Her  age 


THE  GRANGE  17 

might  have  been  forty-five,  but  she  looked  at  least  ten 
years  younger  than  that,  and  on  some  occasions 
younger  still.  There  was  not  a  thread  of  grey  in  her 
rippling,  lustrous  brown  hair;  her  cheeks  were  softly 
rounded,  her  skin  was  fresh.  She  wore  a  large  flowery 
hat,  which  accentuated  the  graceful  slimness  of  her 
form.  She  looked  up  at  Lady  Crowborough,  looming 
profusely  above  her,  out  of  untroubled  blue  eyes. 
"  Thanks  so  much,"  she  said.  "  I'm  not  sure  what  Ed- 
mund is  doing  to-morrow.  Pamela  and  I  could  come. 
I  could  let  you  know  if  he  can't." 

Lady  Crowborough  grunted.  She  was  a  tall,  upright 
woman  with  a  decorative  fa9ade,  and  seemed  to  have 
been  formed  by  nature  to  play  the  part  of  a  great  lady. 
But  there  was  something  lacking  in  Rer  equipment. 
She  was  easily  flustered,  and  when  confronted  with 
any  difficulty  seemed  to  lose  even  in  physical  bulk. 
"  Crowborough  particularly  wanted  me  to  ask  Colonel 
Eldridge,"  she  said  in  a  tone  that  did  not  carry  out  the 
promise  of  the  preliminary  grunt. 

"  So  I  saw,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  with  unbaffled 
sweetness.  "  It  was  very  good  of  him.  I  don't  see 
in  the  least  why  he  shouldn't  come,  but  it's  never  safe 
to  make  promises  for  him.  If  you  don't  want  me  and 
Pamela  without  him — " 

"  Oh,  of  course  I  do,  if  he  can't  come.  Yes,  of  course 
I  shall  be  delighted.  It's  really  ages  since  we  saw  any- 
thing of  one  another." 

She  suddenly  became  friendly  and  confidential,  drop- 
ping into  a  seat  next  to  Mrs.  Eldridge's,  and  demand- 
ing her  ear  for  a  low-spoken  account  of  the  trouble  she 


18    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

had  been  going  through  with  a  laundry  maid  who  had 
unwisely  loved  a  Canadian  soldier.  Mrs.  Eldridge  was 
all  sympathy,  but  managed  to  impart  some  lightness 
into  an  affair  that  Lady  Crowborough  had  never 
thought  to  regard  as  anything  but  a  gloomy  tragedy. 
When  she  took  leave  of  her  Lady  Crowborough's  man- 
ner was  intimately  affectionate.  She  kissed  her  and 
called  her  "  my  dear,"  and  said  what  a  comfort  it  was 
to  pour  out  one's  troubles  to  an  old  friend. 

Afterwards,  in  conversation  with  her  husband,  she 
was  a  little  doubtful  whether  she  had  not  gone  rather 
too  far.  "  Of  course  I  have  known  her  for  a  good  many 
years,"  she  said.  "  And  I've  always  liked  her  too. 
But  the  fact  is,  I  like  her  better  when  I'm  with  her  than 
when  I'm  away  from  her;  I  don't  know  why.  She's 
got  a  sort  of  way  with  her." 

"  She's  a  very  charming  woman,"  said  Lord  Crow- 
borough.  M  I've  nothing  against  her  at  all.  I  don't 
know  why  you  shouldn't  like  her  when  you're  away 
from  her.  Anyhow,  I'm  glad  you  made  a  bit  of  a  fuss 
with  her.  And  evidently  she  responded,  from  what  you 
say.  No  doubt  she  wants  this  trouble  ended.  So  do  we. 
Poor  old  Edmund !  I've  forgiven  him  for  what  he  said, 
though  'pon  my  word  it  was  outrageous." 

"  Well,  I  said  I  never  would  forget  it,"  said  Lady 
Crowborough.  "  And  really,  John,  when  I  come  to 
think  of  it,  I'm  not  at  all  sure  you're  right  in  making  it 
so  plain  that  we  are  anxious  to  see  Colonel  Eldridge 
back  on  the  old  terms  with  us.  Perhaps  he'll  even  re- 
fuse my  invitation,  and  we  shall  have  given  him  a 
handle.  If  he  does  come,  of  course  I  shall  be  polite  to 


THE  GRANGE  19 

him,  but  I've  no  intention  of  treating  him  in  the  same 
way  as  I  have  Cynthia." 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  you'll  kiss  him ;  but  I'm  quite 
sure  you  won't  treat  him  stiffly,  my  dear.  You  may 
begin  like  that,  but  you're  incapable  of  keeping  it  up." 

Lady  Crowborough  sighed.  "  I  am  like  that,"  she 
admitted.  "  I  get  carried  away." 

When  the  party  from  Pershore  Castle  had  driven  off, 
Lady  Eldridge  took  her  sister-in-law  into  the  house, 
leaving  the  young  people  still  at  their  games,  and  Sir 
William,  who  had  changed  into  gleaming  white,  playing 
with  them.  Lady  Eldridge  was  a  handsome  dark-eyed, 
dark-haired  woman,  very  well  preserved  for  her  years, 
which  were  about  the  same  as  those  of  Mrs.  Eldridge, 
but  without  the  look  of  fragile  youth  that  was  the 
note  of  that  lady's  appearance  in  her  most  favourable 
moments.  She  had  an  agreeable,  decisive  manner  of 
speech,  and  a  straightforward,  honest  look.  The  two 
of  them  had  been  friends  at  school,  and  it  was  at  Hay- 
slope  Hall  that  Lady  Eldridge  had  first  met  her  hus- 
band, at  that  time  a  young  barrister,  not  entirely 
briefless,  or  he  would  not  have  been  in  a  position  to 
marry,  but  with  nothing  in  his  prospects  to  indicate 
the  opulence  that  he  now  so  much  enjoyed. 

Lady  Eldridge's  special  room  was  the  most  recent 
addition  to  the  house,  pleasing  in  its  proportions  and 
decoration,  and  beautifufly  but  quietly  furnished. 
Mrs.  Eldridge  sank  into  a  deep  cushioned  chair,  and 
said  with  a  plaintive  sigh :  "  I  wish  I  could  afford  a 
room  like  this.  You've  made  such  a  perfect  success  of 
it,  Eleanor.  I  don't  think  it  could  possibly  be  nicer." 


20    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  It's  very  sweet  of  you  to  say  so,  my  dear.  But  I 
don't  think  you  have  any  cause  to  grumble,  with  all  the 
beautiful  old  things  you  have  in  your  room.  Of  course 
these  are  mostly  old,  too,  but  then  they  have  all  been 
bought.  I  might  easily  have  gone  wrong,  you  know. 
You  don't  think  it  looks  like  just  money,  do  you?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  Oh,  no ! "  Mrs.  Eldridge  held  up  hands 
of  expostulation.  Then  she  dropped  the  subject. 
"  The  Crowboroughs  want  to  bury  the  hatchet,"  she 
said.  "  I'm  glad  enough.  I  do  hate  rows,  especially 
between  old  friends.  But  my  poor  old  Edmund  had  a 
lot  to  put  up  with.  I  suppose  Lord  Crowborough  means 
well.  It's  what  everybody  says  of  him.  It's  what  they 
generally  do  say  of  thoroughly  tiresome  people,  isn't 
it? — especially  if  they've  got  titles.  Of  course  he  is 
tiresome,  and  so  is  she,  but  both  of  them  have  their 
uses,  so  one  puts  up  with  it." 

Lady  Eldridge  laughed.  Her  laugh  was  agreeable 
to  listen  to,  and  always  meant  that  she  was  amused. 
'*  What  uses  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  there's  the  Castle  to  go  to,  for  one  thing." 

"  You  used  to  bewail  your  lot  in  being  expected  to 
go  so  much  to  the  Castle." 

"  My  dear,  I've  grown  wiser,  as  well  as  a  good  deal 
poorer.  Nobody  can  deny  that  the  Castle  is  desper- 
ately dull,  entirely  owing  to  the  people  who  inhabit  it ; 
for  it's  a  fine  enough  house.  But  they  do  occasionally 
have  people  to  stay,  though  I  don't  know  whether 
you've  noticed  that  the  same  people  seldom  come  twice. 
It's  a  house  to  go  to.  To  that  I've  come — that  I'm 
thankful  for  an  invitation  to  dine  at  Pershore  Castle. 


THE  GRANGE  21 

I'm  not  sure  that  I  didn't  even  angle  for  it.  I  certainly 
intimated  that  if  Edmund  didn't  think  it  good  enough, 
the  invitation  was  on  no  account  to  be  withdrawn  from 
Pam  and  me.  I  made  eyes  at  her,  and  she  gave  in  at 
once.  She  thinks  I'm  a  very  sweet  woman,  until  she 
goes  away  from  me,  and  then  she's  not  so  sure  about 
it.  Am  I  a  sweet  woman,  Eleanor,  or  a  bit  of  a  cat? 
I'm  never  quite  certain." 

"  You  were  a  very  sweet  child,"  said  Lady  Eldridge, 
whose  face  had  become  rather  serious  during  this 
speech.  "  I  always  loved  you  and  always  shall.  And 
as  long  as  you  say  everything  you  think  to  me  .  .  . " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  shall  always  do  that.  You're  one 
of  the  few  comforts  left  to  me  in  life.  I  can't  grumble 
to  Edmund,  or  the  children.  Besides,  you're  so  gen- 
erous. I  should  never  have  had  my  little  bit  of  London 
this  year  but  for  you.  How  I  should  have  missed  it ! 
And  how  I  enjoyed  it!  There  is  no  doubt  that 
one  does  enjoy  pleasures  that  come  to  one  unexpectedly 
more  than  those  that  one  takes  as  a  matter  of  course." 

"  Well,  Cynthia,  you  know  that  until  you  have  a 
house  of  your  own  again  in  London,  ours  is  there  for 
you  to  come  to  whenever  you  like.  And  for  the  girls 
too.  It  doesn't  want  saying,  does  it,  dear?  We've 
always  been  very  close  together.  There  was  a  time 
when  I  owed  almost  all  my  pleasures  in  life  to  you, 
and  I  don't  forget  how  generous  you  were.  We've  been 
fortunate,  Bill  and  I,  and  at  a  time  when  so  many  peo- 
ple have  had  to  alter  their  way  of  living.  It's  nice 
to  think  that  our  good  fortune  is  of  use  not  only  to 
ourselves ;  that  those  we  love  can  share  it  with  us.  I 


22    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

suppose  there  aren't  many  people  who  are  so  close 
together  as  you  and  Edmund  and  Bill  and  I.  And  our 
children  too.  I  can't  imagine  anything  that  would 
come  between  us." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge.  "I  can't  either.  It's 
a  great  comfort  to  have  you  here.  I  don't  know  what 
we  should  do  without  you." 


CHAPTER  III 

NORMAN 

NORMAN  ELDRIDGE  and  his  cousin  Pamela  detached 
themselves  from  the  tennis  players  and  strolled  off 
through  the  bare  blaze  of  the  upper  garden  with  its 
elaborate  architecture  of  walls  and  steps  and  pavings 
and  pergolas,  and  its  bright,  restless  plantings,  into  the 
shade  of  the  woods. 

They  were  close  friends,  these  two,  and  had  been  so 
ever  since  Norman  as  a  boy  of  eight  had  fallen  in  love 
with  Pamela  as  a  baby  of  two.  It's  a  nice  sort  of  boy 
who  loves  children,  and  Norman  had  been  a  very 
attractive  small  boy,  high-spirited,  energetic  and  mis- 
chievous, but  never  a  source  of  anxiety  with  his  mis- 
chievousness,  as  his  cousin  Hugo  had  been.  Hugo 
was  a  year  older  than  Norman,  and  always  eager  to 
make  his  seniority  felt.  In  those  early  days  Norman 
had  paid  visits  from  the  little  house  in  Hampstead 
where  his  parents  then  lived,  to  Hayslope  Hall,  and 
greatly  enjoyed  the  ample  life  of  the  country  house, 
with  ponies  to  ride,  the  river  to  fish,  later  on  rabbits 
and  birds  to  shoot,  and  all  the  blissful  freedom  of  the 
woods  and  fields.  But  Hugo,  his  constant  companion 
in  holiday  activities,  had  spoilt  a  good  deal  of  the 
pleasure  of  them.  At  first  Norman  had  given  way  and 
been  bullied.  It  seemed  as  if  Hugo  were  unable  to 
enjoy  himself  without  being  unpleasant.  He  was 

23 


24    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

bigger  and  stronger  than  Norman,  and  had  all  the 
advantage  of  being  on  his  own  ground.  In  earlier 
visits,  when  both  children  had  been  under  the  eye  of' 
nurses  and  governess,  there  had  been  frequent  quarrels, 
but  Hugo  had  been  forced  more  or  less  to  behave  him- 
self. But  during  that  month  of  Christmas  holidays, 
when  Hugo  had  come  home  from  his  first  term  at 
school,  he  had  turned  Norman's  excitement  and  pleas- 
ure into  a  dragging  unhappiness,  which  increased  so 
much  that  he  came  to  count  the  days  before  the  end 
of  his  visit  as  eagerly  as  he  had  counted  those  which 
had  brought  him  to  it. 

Hugo,  as  a  schoolboy,  tyrannized  over  him,  and  yet 
he  wanted  him  for  his  games,  and  hardly  ever  left  him  in 
peace.  There  was  another  boy,  a  year  older  than  Hugo 
— Fred  Comfrey,  son  of  the  Rector  of  Hayslope — who 
was  constantly  with  them.  He  took  his  line  from 
Hugo,  and  helped  in  the  bullying.  Poor  little  Norman 
used  to  cry  himself  to  sleep  every  night,  but  it  was  his 
pride  never  to  let  his  tormentors  see  how  much  they 
hurt  him.  His  uncle  and  aunt  were  kind  to  him.  It 
would  sometimes  come  over  him  with  a  sense  of  bewil- 
derment how  little  they  knew  of  his  real  feelings;  for 
everything  seemed  to  be  right  when  the  boys  were  with 
them.  No  doubt  they  thought  hie  was  enjoying  him- 
self to  the  full,  having  everything  that  a  boy  could 
want  to  make  him  happy. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  he  came  to  adore  little 
Pamela,  whose  bright  prattle  and  pretty,  loving  ways 
with  him  soothed  his  sore  heart.  But  it  was  only  now 
and  then  that  he  could  forget  himself,  playing  with  her. 


NORMAN  25 

The  other  boys  were  brutally  scornful  of  his  taste  for 
the  companionship  of  a  baby. 

He  did  not  go  to  Hayslope  again  until  a  year  later. 
By  that  time  he  was  a  schoolboy  himself.  He  had 
thought  a  good  deal  about  his  cousin  Hugo,  and  about 
Fred  Comfrey,  in  the  interval,  and  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion, assisted  by  an  intimate  friend  of  his  own  age  to 
wham  he  had  disclosed  the  matter,  that  he  had  been  a 
bally  ass  to  be  put  down  by  them. 

He  had  entered  the  republic  of  his  school  with  un- 
happy anticipations  of  the  life  he  would  lead  there, 
with  forty  tyrants  to  domineer  over  him  instead  of  two. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  his  experience  with  Hugo  and 
Fred,  he  would  have  escaped  months  of  anticipatory 
dread.  But  his  fears  proved  groundless.  This  was  a 
very  goad  school  for  small  boys,  with  a  headmaster 
whose  outstanding  aim  was  to  make  friends  of  them  all 
and  to  keep  them  happy.  He  was  helped  by  his  wife, 
who  loved  children  and  had  none  of  her  own.  The 
forty  beys  were  her  family,  and  outside  school  hours 
they  used  the  whole  house  as  if  it  were  their  home. 
Under  this  happy  rule  there  were  no  awkward  fences 
for  a  little  boy  new  to  school  life  to  surmount.  He 
was  welcomed  as  a  member  of  the  family,  and  one  who 
was  expected  to  do  it  credit.  Everything  was  done  to 
bring  out  whatever  originality  of  character  he  had  in 
him.  The  elder  boys,  taking  their  tone  from  the  head- 
master, his  wife  and  assistants,  were  kind  and  protec- 
tive. The  only  objection  to  the  system  was  that  a 
new  boy  of  self-assertive  habits  occasionally  made  him- 
self something  of  a  nuisance.  But  the  standards  and 


26    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

ideals  of  school  life  soon  told  on  all  but  the  incorrigi- 
bles;  the  headmaster  knew  when  and  how  to  exercise 
severity  on  the  rare  occasions  on  which  it  was  required ; 
and  if  a  boy  had  not  submitted  himself  to  the  tone  of 
the  school  by  the  end  of  his  first  year  his  parents  were 
asked  to  remove  him.  That  sometimes  made  trouble 
for  the  headmaster,  but  he  was  content  to  put  up 
with  that  now  and  then  for  the  sake  of  his  beloved 
school. 

Norman,  after  a  pause  of  bewilderment,  expanded 
under  this  treatment.  He  was  gay  and  bright  and 
bubbling  over  with  life ;  he  was  quick  with  his  work  and 
had  an  aptitude  for  the  pursuits  that  are  valued  among 
boys.  He  was  made  much  of  from  the  first,  but  his 
n-ative  modesty  prevented  his  being  spoilt. 

It  was  this  agreeable  modesty  of  his  that  had  led  him 
to  knuckle  under  to  Hugo  and  Fred  the  year  before,  and 
they  had  taken  advantage  of  it.  He  went  down  to 
Hayslope  with  his  father  and  mother  for  Christmas  with 
the  determination  to  knuckle  under  in  nothing,  and 
rather  enjoyed,  though  with  seme  tremors,  the  prospect 
of  making  it  quite  plain  where  he  stood,  and  where  he 
intended  to  stand  fer  the  future.  He  had  learnt  to 
box  a  little  at  school,  and  thought  it  might  come  in 
useful.  He  didn't  suppose  that  he  was  capable  of  tak- 
ing on  Hugo  and  Fred  together,  but  if  it  should  be 
necessary  he  was  net  averse  from  trying. 

To  his  immense  surprise,  however,  Hugo  greeted  him 
affably,  and  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  disagreeables 
of  the  previous  visit.  They  played  together  with  no 
more  than  the  normal  amount  of  friction  between  small 


NORMAN  27 

boys,  and  settled  their  differences  as  they  arose  without 
coming  anywhere  near  to  blows. 

Then  Fred  Comfrey,  who  had  spent  Christmas  away 
from  home,  came  on  the  scene.  Now  was  the  time  for 
the  three  of  them  to  take  stock  of  one  another.  So  far, 
Norman  had  been  content  to  make  friends  with  an 
apparently  much  improved  Hugo,  without  bothering 
himself  about  whether  he  would  have  liked  him  if  he 
had  seen  him  in  contact  with  other  boys.  In  the  give 
and  take  of  school  life  a  boy  finds  his  level  very  quickly. 
He  is  known  through  and  through,  and  sized  up  with  an 
accuracy  seldom  at  fault,  though  the  ruk  by  which 
he  is  measured  is  more  rigid  than  any  that  is  applied 
in  after  life.  Outside,  the  rule  is  somewhat  relaxed. 
Boys  not  acceptable  to  their  fellows  may  find  them- 
selves liked  by  older  people,  and  show  themselves  in  an 
altogether  different  light.  The  ordinary  courtesies  of 
life,  disregarded  at  school,  have  some  sway.  There  is 
the  softening  influence  of  feminine  and  family  society. 
A  truce  is  called,  and  allowances  unconsciously  made. 
So  it  was  with  Hugo  and  Norman,  who  were  not  made 
to  run  together,  but  managed  to  find  some  community 
of  interest  in  the  pursuits  of  holiday  time. 

But  with  the  advent  of  the  third  party  new  adjust- 
ments had  to  be  made.  There  was  a  pause  of  observa- 
tion, and  then  the  struggle  began. 

The  Rector's  son  was  a  stocky,  dark-haired  boy  of 
considerable  strength  for  his  age.  He  was  already  at 
one  of  the  minor  public  schools,  where  they  took  boys 
from  the  age  of  eleven.  His  manners  were  rough,  as  his 
school  was,  and  his  ideals  did  not  include  that  of  any 


28    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

sort  of  courtesy,  though  he  was  retiring  enough  in  the 
company  of  his  elders. 

Hugo  was  as  tall  as  Fred,  but  not  nearly  so  broad 
or  strong.  He  was  dark,  too,  and  good-looking  in 
boy  fashion,  though  not  remarkably  so.  His  man- 
ners were  agreeable  in  grown-up  society,  and  Norman 
had  lately  found  them  inoffensive  when  not  affected  by 
outside  influences.  In  a  very  short  time  it  was  to  be 
proved  whether  he  would  keep  up  his  new-found  amity 
with  his  cousin  or  put  himself  on  Fred's  side  against 
him.  His  character  was  weak,  and  a  year  before  Fred 
had  played  upon  it,  ostensibly  following  his  lead,  be- 
cause with  unpleasant  precocity  he  recognized  his 
superiority  of  place,  but  actually  pushing  him  into  the 
attitude  that  suited  his  inclinations. 

Now  came  Norman's  second  surprise.  During  the 
pause  of  observation  which  came  before  the  three  of 
them  settled  down  to  the  respective  places  which  their 
characters  and  experience  had  earned  for  them,  Fred 
seemed  to  realize  that  Norman  partook  in  some  measure 
of  Hugo's  superiority.  It  would  have  been  marked 
enough  to  anybody  who  had  seen  the  three  of  them 
together.  The  frankness  of  demeanour  which  had  been 
encouraged  by  Norman's  short  experience  of  admirably 
conducted  school  life  formed  a  significant  contrast  with 
Fred's  clumsy  diffidence  in  presence  of  his  elders  and 
his  sniggering  audacities  when  released  from  restraint. 
He  was  an  unpleasant  boy  even  at  that  early  age,  and 
Norman  instinctively  disliked  him  from  the  first  moment 
of  the  second  period  of  intimacy,  and  was  inclined  to 
hug  his  dislike. 


NORMAN  29 

It  was  he  who  made  the  breach  that  presently  came. 
Otherwise,  Fred  would  have  kept  the  peace,  and  they 
would  have  got  on  as  long  as  they  were  together  with- 
out an  open  quarrel. 

Three-year-old  Pamela  was  the  cause  of  it.  Norman 
had  found  her  more  entrancing  than  ever,  and  had 
made  no  attempt  to  hide  his  love  for  her  during  the 
week  before  Fred  had  come  on  the  scene.  Hugo  had 
grumbled  sometimes  when  Norman  had  wanted  to  play 
with  her,  and  he  had  wanted  him  to  do  something  else, 
but  there  had  been  no  repetition  of  the  contempt  that 
this  unmanly  preference  for  the  society  of  a  baby  had 
previously  called  forth.  Hugo  was  rather  fond  of  his 
little  sister,  though  he  never  put  himself  out  to  amuse 
her. 

On  the  third  day  after  Fred's  arrival  he  came  up 
to  the  hall  immediately  after  breakfast,  all  agog  for 
the  game  devised  the  evening  before. 

It  had  been  snowing  hard,  then  and  through  the 
night,  and  now  it  was  a  glorious,  sparkling  morning, 
with  the  garden  and  the  park  and  the  woods  all  muffled 
in  white,  under  a  frost  which  bound  the  whole  land- 
scape into  gleaming,  motionless  beauty.  The  boys  had 
found  a  pair  of  Canadian  snowshoes  in  a  lumber-room. 
They  were  to  use  them  for  a  game  of  Indian  trackers 
in  the  woods,  and  had  agreed  upon  their  several  parts, 
not  without  some  dispute,  but  on  the  whole  amicably. 
Hugo  and  Fred  were  eager  to  be  off  at  once.  So  was 
Norman,  but  he  was  rolling  on  the  floor  of  the  hall 
when  Fred  arrived,  Pamela  pursuing  him  with  shrieks 
of  laughter,  and  did  not  at  once  respond  to  Fred's 


urgings.  When  they  were  repeated  with  impatience  he 
responded  still  less.  He  wasn't  going  to  be  ordered 
about  by  Fred,  and  his  latent  hostility  impelled  him 
to  make  it  plain  to  him  that  the  more  insistent  the 
summons  the  less  quickly  would  it  be  obeyed.  When 
Hugo  added  his  impatient  word,  he  said:  "All  right, 
you  go  out  and  begin,  if  you're  in  such  a  hurry.  I'll 
come  when  I'm  ready." 

The  two  boys  flung  off  grumbling,  and  Norman 
played  with  Pamela  until  a  nurse  came  to  fetch  her. 
Then  he  set  out  to  join  them,  not  without  some  tremors 
over  the  reception  he  would  meet  with.  But  there  was 
something  not  altsgether  disagreeable  about  these 
tremors,  and  he  grinned  widely,  though  he  was  not  in 
the  least  amused,  as  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  house 
and  saw  Hugo  and  Fred  sitting  on  a  snow-corered  log 
at  the  edge  of  the  wood  some  distance  off.  Curiously 
enough,  this  scene  came  back  to  him  vividly  ten  years 
later  as  he  was  crouching  under  the  lee  of  a  trench  in 
Flanders,  waiting  for  the  signal  to  attack  a  more 
formidable  foe.  And,  though  he  didn't  know  it,  there 
was  actually  the  same  grin  on  his  face  when  the  signal 
came. 

He  walked  slowly  across  the  park  towards  them, 
stepping  rather  carefully  in  the  footmarks  that  one 
of  them  had  made  in  the  snow.  When  he  got  within 
hailing  distance  of  them  he  called  out :  "  Haven't  you 
tried  the  snowshoes  yet?  " 

There  was  no  reply.  They  had  their  heads  together 
and  Fred  was  eyeing  him  balefully. 

When  he  got  near  them  Fred  rose  from  his  seat,  and 


NORMAN  31 

said:  "Look  here,  we're  not  going  to  stand  this  any 
longer." 

"  Well,  then  sit  it,"  replied  Norman,  rather  pleased 
with  the  readiness  of  the  repartee. 

Fred  looked  uglier  than  usual,  but  his  next  speech 
was  more  in  the  tone  of  reason  than  Norman  had  ex- 
pected. "  You're  the  youngest  of  the  three  of  us,"  he* 
said.  "  You're  not  going  to  keep  us  hanging  about 
waiting  for  you  when  we've  all  settled  on  something 
to  do.  The  cheek  of  it !  " 

Norman  glanced  at  Hugo,  who  still  sat  on  the  log. 
There  was  nothing  in  his  face  yet  to  show  whether  he 
was  hostile  or  not.  He  looked  more  interested  than  any- 
thing, and  it  came  home  to  Norman  that  if  he  got  the 
better  of  Fred,  Hugo  need  no  longer  be  feared  as  an 
adversary. 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  I  kept  you  waiting,"  said  Norman. 
"  But  I'm  here  now,  so  let's  begin." 

Fred  was  still  inclined  for  argument,  **  I'm  the  old- 
est," he  said,  "  but  we're  both  here  to  play  with  Hugo, 
I  suppose.  As  you're  staying  with  him,  naturally  he 
doesn't  like  to  make  too  much  fuss  over  your  cheek. 
But—" 

"  He  didn't  mind  making  a  fuss  last  year,"  inter- 
rupted Norman,  "  and  you  sucked  up  to  him  and  helped 
him.  I  was  a  bally  ass  to  stand  it  then,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  stand  it  now." 

Fred  made  a  threatening  gesture.  "  Sucking  up !  " 
he  repeated.  "  You'd  better  be  careful  what  you 
say." 

Hugo  still  held  aloof,  hunched  up  on  the  log,  with 


32    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

his  hands  in  his  pockets.  Somehow  Norman  felt  it 
necessary  to  bring  him  in.  "  He  does  suck  up  t»  you," 
he  said.  "  I'm  not  going  to,  you  know." 

Hugo  stirred  uneasily,  and  said :  "  It's  quite  true 
what  he  says.  It's  cheek  keeping  us  waiting  like  this 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"  To  play  with  a  baby,"  added  Fred  with  scorn.  It 
was  the  charge,  so  frequently  brought,  which  had  hurt 
him  the  year  before.  But  it  hurt  him  no  longer.  "  I 
like  playing  with  little  Pam,"  he  said.  "  So  does  Hugo 
sometimes,  when  you're  not  here.  You'd  like  it  too,  if 
you  weren't  such  a  dirty  scug." 

This  was  the  turning-point.  Fred  made  another 
gesture  of  attack,  but  did  not  follow  it  up.  If  he  had 
doae  so  the  battle  would  have  been  short  and  sharp, 
and  whoever  had  won — it  must  have  been  he — bad  blood 
would  have  been  let  off  and  the  three  boys  would  have 
settled  down  together.  Instead,  he  turned  to  Hugo. 
"  Really,  that's  a  bit  too  much ! "  he  said  angrily. 
"  Shall  I  teach  him  his  lesson  ?  " 

Hugo  rose.  "  Oh,  let's  chuck  it,"  he  said.  "  What's 
the  good  of  scrapping  when  there's  a  game  to  play  ?  " 

They  played  their  game,  which  none  of  them  enjoyed. 
The  contest  had  seemed  to  be  quite  indecisive,  but  Nor- 
man had  won  it  hands  down.  It  was  Hugo,  the  weakest 
character  of  the  three,  who  was  the  decisive  factor. 
Fred  deferred  to  him,  and  lost  ground  by  doing  so. 
Norman  made  no  effort  to  gain  ascendancy  over  him, 
being  content  with  equal  terms,  but  his  ascendancy 
none  the  less  became  marked.  Because  he  disliked  Fred, 
finding  something  in  him  antagonistic  to  all  the  clean 


NORMAN  33K 

ideals  in  which  he  had  been  reared,  Hugo  came  rather 
to  dislike  him  too.  Fred  met  this  attitude  with  depreca- 
tion, which  made  matters  worse.  He  began  to  be  cold- 
shouldered,  and  towards  the  end  of  the  holidays  his 
society  was  as  much  as  possible  dispensed  with. 

The  next  time  that  Norman  came  to  Hayslope,  in 
the  summer,  Fred  had  made  his  ground  good  again, 
having  become  necessary  to  Hugo  in  the  meantime. 
There  was  no  quarrel  this  time,  but  Norman  never  liked 
Fred,  and  their  intimacy  was  only  on  the  surface.  He 
didn't  like  Hugo  much  either,  or  wouldn't  have  liked 
him  rf  he  had  known  him  at  school  among  a  lot  of  other 
boys.  But  there  was  some  sense  of  relationship  and 
he  was  part  of  Hayslope  Hall  and  all  its  keen  delights. 

As  the  years  of  boyhood  went  by,  the  cousins  re- 
mained friends  in  some  sort.  But  Norman's  lead  be- 
came more  pronounced.  Hugo  went  to  Harrow,  which 
was  his  father's  school.  William  Eldridge  by  this  time 
had  left  the  Bar  to  engage  in  commerce,  and  was 
already  beginning  to  make  money.  Norman  was  sent 
to  Eton.  When  he  had  been  there  a  year  his  foot 
was  on  the  ladder.  He  was  one  of  those  boys  to  whom 
success  in  school  life  comes  naturally,  while  Hugo  was 
a  potential  rotter,  destined  to  remain  in  the  ruck,  un- 
less he  should  emerge  from  it  for  some  discreditable 
reason. 

When  Norman  was  fifteen  and  Fred  nearly  eighteen, 
the  antagonism  between  them  at  last  found  its  vent. 
Fred  had  grown  into  a  lout  of  a  boy,  whose  only  saving 
grace  was  athleticism.  He  was  already  in  his  school 
eleven  and  fifteen,  and  Norman,  though  coming  on  well, 


34    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

was  as  yet  far  below  those  altitudes.  Fred,  uplifted 
by  his  successes,  was  not  so  careful  now  to  conciliate 
him.  He  encouraged  the  worst  side  of  Hugo,  and  had 
established  an  influence  over  him  while  Norman  had 
been  off  the  field.  This  always  happened,  but  now 
Hugo  did  not  gradually  come  over  to  Norman,  as  he 
had  done  before.  His  adolescence  had  brought  him 
to  Fred's  unsavoury  views  of  life  and  conduct.  Fred 
was  his  chosen  companion  at  Hayslope,  in  a  way  that 
Norman  would  never  be. 

Norman,  an  attractive,  light-hearted  boy,  in  the  early 
years  of  his  school  life,  was  not  without  experience  of 
evil,  to  which  he  had  shut  his  eyes  as  much  as  possible. 
The  talk  of  the  two  older  boys  offended  and  troubled 
him,  but  he  did  not  at  first  combat  it.  He  was  parted 
from  them  by  more  than  years.  Hitherto  they  had  all 
been  boys  together;  now  the  other  two  were  essentially 
men,  of  the  baser  sort,  and  he  remained  a  boy,  with 
a  boy's  clean  distaste  for  what  was  as  yet  none  of  his 
business.  He  fell  silent  when  they  pursued  their 
promptings,  and  presently  began  to  withdraw  himself 
from  them. 

Pamela  had  reached  the  age  of  nine.  She  was  an 
engaging  little  sylph-like  creature,  with  laughing,  mis- 
chievous ways,  and  a  bright  intelligence  beyond  her 
years.  She  was  quite  fit  to  be  a  companion  to  Nor- 
man, and  he  took  pleasure  in  her  society.  Judith  was 
only  a  year  younger,  and  companionable,  too,  in  a  more 
serious  way.  Alice  and  Isabelle  were  five  and  four. 
All  of  them  loved  Norman,  who  played  childish  games 
with  them,  and  was  entirely  happy  in  doing  so.  But 


NORMAN  35 

this  brought  on  him  some  return  of  the  treatment  by 
which  he  had  been  made  so  unhappy  during  his  first 
intercourse  with  Hugo  and  Fred  together.  It  did  not 
make  him  unhappy  now,  but  contemptuous  of  them. 
Still,  there  was  the  fact  that  Norman's  childhood  still 
hung  about  him,  while  they  had  got  rid  of  theirs;  and 
no  boy  of  fifteen  likes  having  his  youth  emphasized, 
especially  by  those,  rather  older,  with  whom  he  desires 
to  be  on  equal  terms.  Fred  and  Hugo  held  this  advan- 
tage over  him,  which  delayed  the  outbreak  for  some 
time. 

It  came  suddenly  when  it  did  come,  and  its  begin- 
nings were  almost  a  repetition  of  the  quarrel  of  years 
before.  Norman  was  wanted  to  do  something  with  the 
other  two,  and  was  not  to  be  found.  They  came  upon 
him  by  chance,  with  Pamela,  in  a  retired  part  of  the 
garden.  They  were  sitting  on  a  bench  deep  in  conver- 
sation, for  they  found  plenty  to  talk  about  that  inter- 
ested them,  and  Pamela  was  often  very  serious  in  these 
confabulations,  when  she  laid  aside  the  quick  activities 
of  her  nature  and  was  content  to  sit  quietly  and  talk  to 
a  friend. 

The  discovery  was  made  an  occasion  of  whooping 
triumph  by  Fred  and  Hugo,  as  if  they  had  surprised 
some  secret.  Pamela  flamed  out  against  them  for  dis- 
turbing her  and  Norman,  and  told  them  to  go  away 
and  leave  them  alone.  Their  interference  stung  Nor- 
man to  a  cold  fury  that  was  quite  a  new  experience  to 
him,  and  beyond  what  was  natural  to  his  years.  He 
stood  up  with  a  white  face  and  confronted  Fred,  whose 
eyes  flickered  for  a  moment  before  him.  "  I'll  just  go 


36    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

and  get  my  cap,"  he  said,  "  and  then  I'll  come  with  you. 
Wait  for  me  down  by  the  wood." 

So  he  got  Pamela  away.  She  expostulated  indig- 
nantly as  they  crossed  the  lawn  together.  "  I  hate 
Fred  Comfrey,"  she  said.  "  Why  do  you  want  to  go 
with  him  instead  of  staying  with  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  we'd  already  arranged  something.  I'd  for- 
gotten," he  said  shortly.  "  I  can't  always  be  with 
you." 

It  was  beyond  him  altogether  to  affect  indifference 
before  her,  and  this  unusual  brusqueness  served  its 
turn.  "  You're  ashamed  of  them  finding  you  talking  to 
a  girl,"  she  said  hotly.  "  You're  like  that  horrid  Fred. 
Very  well,  then,  you  needn't  pretend  to  be  friends  with 
me  any  more.  Go  with  him." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  silly,"  he  said,  and  left  her. 

He  went  through  the  garden  and  across  the  park 
to  where  they  were  waiting  for  him.  As  he  went  he 
gave  reign  to  his  anger.  Little  Pamela!  That  coarse 
brute  to  jeer  at  their  being  together !  And  Hugo  had 
stood  by,  grinning,  if  not  even  adding  jeers  of  his  own. 
His  fist  clenched  as  he  walked  up  to  them.  "  You're  a 
foul  swine,"  he  said,  stopping  short  within  a  yard  of 
Fred,  and  added  more,  in  language  that  seemed  to  come 
readily  to  his  lips,  though  as  a  rule  he  avoided  the 
grosser  forms  of  schoolboy  abuse. 

Fred  was  taken  aback  for  the  moment  by  the  violence 
of  the  attack,  and  Norman  turned  to  Hugo.  "  You're 
a  swine,  too,"  he  said.  "  Fancy  letting  this  filthy  cad 
treat  your  own  sister  like  that !  " 

Fred  began  to  say  something;  N»rman  did  not  wait 


NORMAN  37 

to  hear  what.  Fred's  speech  goaded  him  to  action, 
and  he  dashed  his  fist  in  the  other's  face.  Then  they 
were  at  it.  Fred's  anger  was  loosed,  too,  and  for  a 
few  moments  it  was  a  desperate  scrimmage,  with  no 
science  shown  on  either  side.  Norman,  battered  by  the 
attack,  was  the  first  to  gird  himself  to  some  self-pos- 
session, and  by  fighting  warily  delayed  the  end  for  a 
little.  But  he  had  no  chance  whatever  against  the  much 
stronger  and  bigger  boy,  and  was  soon  on  the  grass 
with  the  fight  knocked  out  of  him. 

He  was  struggling  up  to  continue  it,  but  Hugo  in- 
tervened. "  This  is  rot,"  he  said,  more  decisive  than 
his  wont.  "  Fred  was  only  chaffing.  He  meant  nothing 
by  it." 

Norman  was  gasping  and  sobbing,  the  blood  drip- 
ping from  his  nose.  "  He's  a  swine,"  he  cried,  "  a  filthy 
swine." 

Fred  stood  over  him,  breathing  hard.  Norman  had 
marked  him,  but  not  enough  to  keep  his  blood  hot. 
Already  he  was  feeling  some  compunction  at  having  let' 
himself  go  to  the  full  against  a  boy  of  Norman's  size. 
"  It  was  just  chaff,"  he  repeated ;  "  nothing  to  get 
shirty  about." 

Norman  struggled  to  his  knees  and  unsteadily  to  his 
feet,  and  with  his  handkerchief  to  his  face  went  off 
into  the  wood  away  from  them. 

Fred  and  Hugo  looked  at  one  another.  "  Better  go 
after  him,"  Hugo  said.  "  There'll  be  a  row  if— 

"  No  good  my  going,"  said  Fred  sulkily.  Dread  of 
what  should  happen  began  to  take  hold  of  him. 
"  You'd  better  go.  He  won't  want  to  sneak." 


38    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Hugo  caught  Norman  up.  He  was  standing  against 
a  tree,  sobbing.  "You  put  up  a  jolly  good  fight 
against  him,"  Hugo  said  awkwardly.  "  Better  shake 
hands,  now  it's  all  over." 

"  I  shan't,"  cried  Norman  passionately.  "  He's  a 
foul  swine." 

"  Well,  you  keep  on  saying  that,  but  I  think  you're 
making  too  much  of  it.  He  didn't  mean  anything 
beastly  about  Pam.  Naturally,  I  shouldn't  stand 
that." 

"  Yes,  you  would,"  said  Norman,  facing  him. 
"  You'd  stand  anything  from  that  beast.  You're  just 
like  you  used  to  be  with  him.  I'll  tell  you  this — I  stood 
it  then,  but  I'm  not  going  to  stand  it  now.  I  won't 
have  anything  more  to  do  with  him,  and  when  you 
have  him  here  I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  you. 
You  can  go  and  be  swines  together.  I'll  play  with  the 
children  instead.  You  can  say  what  you  like  about  it. 
I  don't  care  what  you  say  about  it." 

He  was  still  somewhat  incoherent,  but  Hugo  under- 
stood him.  "  I  dare  say  it  was  rotten  to  chaff  you 
about  that,"  he  said.  "  Anyhow,  I  apologize  for  it,  and 
I'm  sure  Fred  will.  Now  you've  had  a  scrap,  you  ought 
not  to  keep  it  up  against  him." 

Norman  turned  away.  "I'm  going  down  to  the 
river  to  wash  my  face,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want 
you" 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  make  it  up  with  Fred  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not.  I  hate  the  beast,  and  I've  had  enough 
of  him." 

"  Well,  you  won't  say  anything — " 


NORMAN  39 

Norman  cut  him  short.    "  I'm  not  a  cad,"  he  said. 

Hugo  went  back  to  Fred.  The  result  of  their  con- 
fabulation was  that  Fred  kept  away  from  the  hall 
until  Norman's  visit  was  over.  Norman  did  not  see 
him  again  until  years  afterwards. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PAMEluA 

"  PAM,  I've  got  something  to  tell  you." 

Norman  had  waited  until  they  were  away  from  the 
glare  of  the  garden,  and  the  green  gloom  of  the  summer 
woods  was  all  about  them,  cool  and  secret  and  inviting 
to  confidences. 

He  had  not  changed  much  since  those  days  of  boy- 
hood, though  he  was  now  nearly  twenty-five,  and  the  last 
years  of  the  war  had  caught  him,  and  taught  him  some 
things  that  he  wanted  to  forget,  as  well  as  much  that 
had  strengthened  the  fibre  of  which  he  was  made.  There 
was  a  boyish  atmosphere  about  him  still.  He  was  tall 
and  slim,  and  his  fair  hair,  which  he  tried  to  keep  plas- 
tered to  his  head,  was  always  breaking  away  from  the 
bounds  of  its  cosmetics  and  dropping  a  skein  over  his 
forehead.  Nothing  he  had  undergone  had  affected 
that  bright  light-hearted  charm  of  his  boyhood.  He 
seemed  to  be  rejoicing  in  his  youth  and  his  strength,  and 
in  all  the  world  about  him,  which,  in  spite  of  the 
shadows  that  still  hung  over  it,  he  at  least  found  as 
good  as  the  young  men  of  a  generation  earlier  had  found 
their  more  untroubled  world. 

Pamela  was  very  young  still,  and  very  pretty.  Her 
hair  and  her  colouring  were  as  fair  as  Norman's,  whom 
she  resembled  in  a  cousinly  way.  Indeed  the  resem- 
blances between  them  were  more  than  superficial.  They 


PAMELA  41 

had  the  same  eager  pleasure  in  whatever  life  they  found 
about  them.  They  thought  alike  in  most  things  to 
which  they  put  their  adventurous  minds,  and  to  neither 
of  them  did  it  seem  odd  that  Pamela,  who  had  not  long 
since  left  the  schoolroom,  and  had  grown  up  under  the 
shadow  that  had  dulled  and  limited  the  life  of  her  kind, 
should  claim  an  equality  of  opinion  with  Norman,  who 
was  six  years  older,  and  knew  so  much  more  than  the 
generality  of  young  men  had  ever  known  before. 

One  may  pause  for  a  moment  to  note  this  unex- 
pected attribute  of  those  whose  early  years  of  manhood, 
instead  of  being  passed  in  the  pursuits  and  interests, 
educative  or  otherwise,  adapted  to  their  youth,  had  been 
given  to  the  war,  of  which  they  had  borne  the  ultimate 
brunt.  The  years  which  divide  us  from  it  are  passing 
away.  The  social  phenomena  of  each  successive  stage 
of  the  long  struggle,  and  those  that  have  succeeded  it, 
too  familiar  to  call  for  much  notice  at  the  time,  will 
become  blurred,  and  half  forgotten  even  by  those  who 
were  part  of  them;  and  in  after  years  they  will  be 
difficult  to  gauge.  This,  among  them,  is  not  likely  to  be 
seen  as  it  was,  when  the  years  have  increased,  and  later 
generations  try  to  recapture  the  spirit  of  the  great  war: 
that  the  young  men,  and  the  older  men  too,  who  lived 
through  it,  and  came  out  of  it  whole,  or  not  too  broken 
to  make  what  they  would  of  their  lives,  put  it  to  all 
effective  purposes  out  of  their  minds.  While  it  was 
going  on  they  did  the  work  appointed  to  them  as  if  it 
were  no  more  than  any  other  work  proper  to  their  years, 
and  pursued  their  recreations  with  an  added  zest.  And 
when  at  last  they  were  released,  they  crowded  back  into 


42     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

the  various  ways  of  life  open  to  them,  and  put  it  all 
behind  them  as  just  an  experience  like  any  other  which 
might  have  come  to  them.  It  could  never  be  forgotten, 
but  it  was  not  to-  come  between  them  and  the  life  to 
which  they  had  returned;  and  the  interests  of  that  life 
were  exactly  what  they  would  have  been  if  it  had  never 
happened. 

So  Norman  Eldridge,  who  would  have  gone  to  a  uni- 
versity in  the  ordinary  way,  but  for  the  war,  was  at 
Cambridge  now,  three  years  later  than  his  time,  and 
with  his  three  years  of  service  behind  him.  His 
enjoyment  of  undergraduate  life  was  even  greater  than 
it  would  have  been  in  normal  times,  for  it  was  a  more 
conscious  enjoyment,  and  he  could  gauge  his  oppor- 
tunities better.  Games,  in  which  he  excelled,  though 
he  had  not  quite  s-ucceeded  in  gaining  his  hoped-for  Blue 
for  cricket,  did  not  take  up  even  the  greater  part  of 
his  attention.  He  was  a  lover  of  the  arts,  and  found 
Cambridge  a  delectable  place  in  which  to  pursue  them. 
He  had  plenty  of  money  at  his  disposal,  and  social  life 
was  open  to  him  at  its  widest.  When  term-time  was 
over  he  could  go  where  he  liked,  and  enj»y  himself  as 
he  pleased.  And  at  this  time  he  was  enjoying  himself 
to  the  full. 

"  Pam,  I've  got  something  to  tell  you,"  he  said  as  they 
went  down  into  the  wood  together. 

"  Is  it  the  real  thing  this  time  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a 
quick  smiling  glance  at  his  face. 

"  Oh,  none  of  the  others  have  been  anything — just 
fancies — boyish  fancies,  you  know." 

He  laughed  gaily.     He  was  very  good  to  look  at, 


with  his  close-cropped  shapely  head  thrown  back  on 
the  firm  column  of  his  neck.  Pam  smiled  up  at  him 
again,  with  a  sort  of  proprietary  fondness.  She  ad- 
mired him,  as  she  had  always  admired  him  ever  since  she 
could  remember,  and  had  never  met  a  young  man  whom 
she  thought  his  equal.  And  it  was  a  source  of  pride  to 
her  that  he  was  one  of  her  own  family — to  all  intents 
and  purposes  a  brother.  Poor  Hugo,  over  whose  death 
she  had  cried,  as  something  strange  and  unexpected 
and  infinitely  pathetic,  had  been  a  kind  brother  to  her 
— she  liked  to  remember  that  the  last  time  she  had  said 
good-bye  to  him,  never  to  see  him  again,  he  had  given 
her  ten  pounds  to  spend  as  she  liked — but  he  had  never 
made  a  confidante  of  her,  as  Norman  had  always  done. 
She  had  known  very  little  of  Hugo's  life  as  it  was  spent 
away  from  Hayslope,  but  she  thought  she  knew  all  about 
Norman's  life.  He  had  fallen  in  love  0nce  or  twice, 
and  had  always  told  her  everything  about  it.  Hugo 
seemed  to  have  gone  through  life  without  falling  in  love. 
Poor  Hugo!  She  could  pot  but  believe,  from  her  in- 
timate talks  with  Norman,  that  he  had  died  without 
acquiring  the  crown  of  his  manhood.  Norman  was 
attractive  under  the  influence  of  his  lore  affairs,  and 
she  was  not  surprised  that  he  had  them  continually, 
though  she  saw  quite  plainly  that  without  some  such 
guidance  as  she  was  fortunately  able  to  give  him  he 
might  have  got  into  trouble  with  them.  Men  were  so 
foolish  where  girls  were  concerned.  Even  the  best  of 
them,  who  had  a  lot  to  give — like  Norman — fell  in  love 
with  girls  who  were  in  no  way  their  equals.  But  it  never 
did  to  tell  them  so.  Give  them  all  sympathy  and  affec- 


44    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

tion,  and  the  affair  died  away  of  itself.  So  it  had  been 
three  times  with  Norman  already,  and  Pamela,  who  had 
been  a  little  alarmed  over  the  first  affair,  was  confirmed 
in  the  belief  that  she  had  dealt  most  wisely  with  each 
situation  as  it  had  arisen.  Still,  the  genuine  lasting  emo- 
tion must  come  into  play  sooner  or  later.  There  must  be, 
somewhere,  a  girl  who  was  worthy  of  such  a  rare  prize 
as  Norman's  love,  and  Pamela  had  always  told  herself 
that  when  that  girl  was  found  she  would  welcome  her 
whole-heartedly. 

"  Yes,  you've  been  in  love  with  love,"  she  said  im- 
pressively ;  and  they  both  laughed,  for  this  was  a  quota- 
tion. 

"  Trying  my  wings,"  said  Norman.  "  They  were  all 
dears,  but  there  wasn't  enough  to  them  when  it  came 
down  to  the  things  one  is  interested  in." 

"  Well,  now  I'm  free  to  speak,"  said  Pamela,  "  I'll 
confess  that  they  seemed  to  me  a  set  of  brainless  idiots. 
I  hope  the  new  one  has  got  some  intelligence.  It  would 
be  such  an  advantage  if  you  had  to  spend  your  life  with 
her.  She's  pretty,  of  course.  Have  you  got  a  photo- 
graph of  her?  " 

"  Not  a  proper  one.    I'm  not  up  to  that  point  yet." 

"  Worshipping  at  a  distance  ?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly.  We've  danced  together  a  lot  in 
London,  and  been  the  greatest  pals.  Really,  I've  been 
rather  clever  about  it.  She's  very  young — only  in  her 
first  season.  She's  out  to  have  a  3  oily  good  time,  but 
her  life  isn't  only  amusement.  She's  slogging  hard  at 
the  piano.  She'd  like  to  be  a  pro,  but  of  course  he* 
people  won't  let  her." 


PAMELA  45 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  well,  her  father's  a  Duke.  She's  Lady  Margaret 
Joliff'c.  I  dare  say  you've  seen  pictures  of  her  in  the 
papers.  But  they  don't  do  her  justice.  She's  per- 
fectly lovely.  Oh,  I've  got  it  terrible  bad  this  time, 
Pam." 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  her  pictures.  She's  very  pretty  in- 
deed," said  Pam.  "  And  Jim  knows  her.  He  says  she's 
very  clever." 

The  time  seemed  to  have  come  at  last,  then.  If  Nor- 
man succeeded  in  winning  a  girl  like  this,  nobody  could 
say  he  was  not  getting  as  good  as  he  gave,  not  even 
Pam,  who  thought  that  hardly  anybody  would  be  good 
enough  for  him.  Yet  she  did  not  experience  the  quick 
sense  of  pleasure  which  she  had  persuaded  herself  would 
be  her  response  whenever  Norman  did  come  to  announce 
the  real  thing. 

"  Oh,  clever !  "  repeated  Norman.  "  That's  not  the 
word  for  her.  She  knows.  She's  got  extraordinary 
perceptions  for  a  girl  of  her  age.  It  isn't  only  music. 
It's  books,  and  art — everything  that's  jolly  and  inter- 
esting. And  she's  such  fun  with  it  all.  No  more  of  a 
highbrow  than  you  are.  In  fact,  she's  the  only  girl  I've 
ever  met  who  sees  things  in  the  way  that  you  do." 

Pamela  did  feel  some  pleasure  at  this.  "  That's 
topping,"  she  said.  "Of  course. prettiness  isn't  every- 
thing. I  suppose  the  others  were  pretty,  except  the 
girl  with  a  squint ;  but  they — " 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Pam,  she  hadn't  got  a  squint. 
She—" 

"  Well,  a  slight  cast  in  the  eye,  then ;  and  some  people 


46    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

think  it  an  added  beauty.  But  they  all  seemed  to  have 
the  brains  of  rabbi-ts.  I  was  beginning  to  think  that 
you  never  would  fall  in  love  with  anybody  that  had  got 
beyond  Short  Division.  Of  course  I'm  glad  you've 
found  somebody  intelligent  at  last.  But  do  you  mean 
to  say  that  you  never  got  beyond  talking  about  Hanbert 
and  Ravel  and  Augustus  John  with  her?  " 

Norman  looked  at  her  with  a  slightly  pained  expres- 
sion. "  Pam  dear ! "  he  expostulated.  "  Why  this 
acidulation  ?  " 

Pamela  laughed,  and  they  began  again.  "  Well,  it's 
really  rather  exciting,"  she  said.  "  Do  tell  me  about 
it,  Norman.  You  haven't  told  me  anything  yet.  When 
did  you  catch  fire?  " 

His  face  took  on  a  beatific  expression.  "  Well,  I'd 
held  off  just  a  trifle,"  he  said.  "  We'd  had  a  topping 
time  together  here  and  there.  She  always  seemed  to 
be  pleased  to  see  me,  but — well,  there  was  generally  the 
old  Duchess  somewhere  in  the  background;  she's  not 
really  old,  of  course,  but —  You  see,  it  seemed  to  be 
flying  a  bit  high  for  me.  I  was  at  school  with  Cardiff 
— her  brother — and  he  was  in  the  Regiment  too  for 
a  bit." 

"  Whose  brother?     The  Duchess's?  " 

"  No.     Margaret's." 

"  Do  you  call  her  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  was  going  to  tell  you.  I  lunched  with  them 
at  the  Harrow  match.  Duchess  rather  cordial.  Duke 
ditto.  He  used  to  be  a  bit  of  a  cricketer,  and  he  knew 
I'd  got  my  Eleven  at  Eton.  I  was  feeling  a  bit  bucked 
with  myself — seemed  to  be  getting  a  sort  of  domestic 


PAMELA  47 

hold,  you  know.  So  I  plumped  myself  down  beside  her, 
without  being  invited  to  do  so,  and  she  didn't  turn  me 
away.  I  made  her  laugh.  I  believe  I  made  them  all 
laugh  at  our  end  of  the  table.  I  was  feeling  good  and 
happy,  you  know,  and  rathe?  let  myself  go.  So  after 
lunch  I  asked  her  to  perambulate  with  me;  and  we 
perambulated.  I  don't  think  it  was  quite  in  the  bar- 
gain. I  could  amuse  them  as  a  bright  young  lad,  while 
they  were  stuffing,  but  I  mustn't  take  liberties.  She 
gave  a  sort  of  quick  look  at  the  old  Dutch,  and  said: 
'  Yes,  come  along ;  we'll  run  away.5  The  old  Dutch 
caught  us  with  her  eye  as  we  were  twinkling  off,  and 
called  out,  '  Margaret ! '  But  Margaret  wasn't  taking 
any,  so  we  had  a  very  pleasant  half-hour  together,  and 
she  gave  me  most  of  her  da.tes." 

"  Most  of  her  dates !  " 

"  Oh,  we  weren't  eating  'em  out  of  a  paper  bag.  I 
found  out  most  of  the  places  she  was  going  to  when  they 
left  London.  I  don't  anticipate  an  invitation  to  Bal- 
moral, or  anything  of  that  sort;  but  Goodwood's  open 
to  everybody,  and  there  are  one  or  two  houses  in  Scot- 
land I  think  I  can  wangle  myself  into  later  on,  and 
there's  a  chance  of  her  going  to  the  Canterbury  cricket 
week.  If  she  does,  Norman  Eldridge  will  also  take  part 
in  that  festival.  Oh,  it's  not  over  yet,  by  any  means. 
By  the  time  I  have  to  resume  my  studies  at  Cambridge 
University,  I  hope — " 

"  Yes,  but  what  about—?  " 

"  Wait  a  minute.  You're  in  such  a  hurry.  I  took 
her  back  to  the  Dukeries.  They  were  in  a  box,  and 
fortunately  Cardiff  was  there.  He'd  been  off  on  a 


48 

little  line  of  his  own  at  lunch,  and  I  hadn't  seen  him  for 
some  time.  His  welcome  was  obstreperous.  He  was 
feeling  good  and  happy  himself,  owing  to  his  own  par- 
ticular fairy  smiling  on  him,  I  suppose.  He'd  brought 
her  with  him.  She  was  some  peach." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  about  her.     Stick  to  the  point." 

"  I  did.  I  took  advantage  of  the  genial  atmosphere, 
and  brought  the  old  Dutch  into  it.  She  didn't  want 
to  laugh  at  first,  but  I  made  her.  I  wanted  to  remove 
the  impression  that  I  was  a  sort  of  snatch-lady  pirate, 
but  only  wanted  to  play  with  them  all  together.  I  could 
tell  the  point  where  I  succeeded.  Soon  kind  of  un- 
hitched herself  generally,  and — " 

"  Oh,  do  come  to  the  point,  Norman.  You're  getting 
as  long-winded  as  one  of  the  old  almshouse  women. 
When  did  you  call  Margaret  Margaret?  That's  the 
important  thing." 

"  Yes,  I  knew  it  is.  It  was  a  thrill,  Pam.  I  didn't 
do  it  as  if  I'd  done  it  by  accident.  I  did  it  loud  and 
bold — at  least,  not  loud ;  I  thought  it  would  try  the  old 
Dutch  too  much.  But  it  was  all  quite  simple.  When 
we  said  good-bye,  I  looked  at  her  straight,  and  said: 
'  Good-bye,  Margaret.' " 

"  I  think  it  was  rather  bold — if  not  crude." 

"  No,  dear ;  not  crude.  Not  crude  at  all.  I  put  a 
world  of  meaning  into  it — the  auld  hackneyed  phrase, 
which  may  mean  so  little  and  may  mean  so  much." 

Pamela  laughed.  "  I  don't  believe  you're  in  love  with 
her  at  all,  if  you  can  make  fun  of  it,"  she  said. 

"How  little  you  know,  Pam!  I  jest  to  hide  my 
emotions.  I've  fed  on  that  sweet  moment  ever  since." 


PAMELA  49 

"  You've  told  me  of  other  moments  rather  like  it. 
I  suppose  her  eyes  dropped  before  yours." 

"  They  did  not.  That's  where  she's  different  from 
all  other  girls — except  you." 

"  Thanks  awfully,  Norman.  I'll  try  and  keep  my 
eyes  from  dropping  if  it  ever  happens  to  me.  But  from 
what  you've  said  before  I  thought  they  ought  to  drop. 
What  did  she  do  then — or  say?  " 

"  She  looked  at  me  straight,  and  said :  *  Good-bye, 
Norman,'  with  a  little  half  smile." 

Pamela  considered  this.  "  That  was  the  end,  then," 
she  said. 

"Yes,  but  what  an  end,  Pam!  It  was  the  begin- 
ning too.  You  can  see  what  a  thrill  it  was,  can't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  can,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  Mind  you,  this  was  the  very  first  time.  Up  to  then 
there  hadn't  been  a  word  or  a  sign.  That's  what  makes 
it  something  to  remember,  you  know.  Oh,  Pam!  It's 
a  heavenly  feeling  being  in  love.  And  it's  such  a  score 
having  somebody  like  you  to  tell  it  to.  I  don't  know 
who  I  should  have  told  if  I  hadn't  had  you — my  tailor, 
I  dare  say;  I  shouldn't  have  been  able  to  keep  it  to 
myself,  and  I  owe  him  something  which  it  isn't  quite 
convenient  to  pay  just  yet.  I  told  her  about  you,  you 
know." 

"Did  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  always  do  talk  about  you  when  I  get 
really  confidential." 

"What  did  you  tell  her?     And  what  did  she  say?" 

"  She  was  very  sweet  about  you,  and  said  you  were 


50     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

just  the  sort  of  girl  she  would  like  to  have  for  a  friend. 
A  lot  of  her  friends  were  such  ninnies." 

"  I  never  meet  that  sort  of  girl  now,"  said  Pamela 
with  a  sigh.  "  If  only  I  hadn't  had  flu  when  Auntie 
Eleanor  asked  me  to  stay  with  you  in  London,  I  suppose 
I  should  have  met  her." 

"  Yes,  that  was  jolly  bad  luck.  We  should  all  three 
have  had  a  jolly  good  time  together." 

Pamela  laughed  again.  "  Perhaps  I  should  have  had 
somebody  of  my  own,"  she  said.  "  I'm  old  enough  now, 
you  know,  Norman." 

"  Of  course  you  are.  You're  just  the  same  age  as 
Margaret,  as  a  matter  of  fact.  You'd  have  had  'em 
swarming.  But  there  are  precious  few  of  them  I  should 
think  good  enough  for  you.  I  say,  old  girl,  what  about 
Jim  Horsham  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  about  him?  " 

*'  I  don't  think  he's  good  enough,  you  know,  though 
he  is  a  Viscount." 

"  I  like  Jim.     I've  known  him  all  my  life." 

"  He's  a  good  chap,  but  he's  a  desperate  dull  dog. 
Don't  go  falling  in  love  with  Jim,  Pam." 

"  I'm  not  likely  to  fall  in  love  with  him." 

"  It  occurred  to  me  this  afternoon  that  he  showed 
some  slight  inclination  to  fall  in  love  with  you.  There 
was  a  sort  of  concentrated  heaviness  on  him  whenever 
he  was  with  you.  I  suppose  he'd  sparkle  if  he  could, 
under  emotion,  but  as  he  can't,  he's  got  to  be  duller  than 
usual.  Perhaps  there's  nothing  in  it.  But  I  shouldn't 
blame  hnn  if  he  did  fall  in  love  with  you.  In  fact,  I 
should  think  it  rather  cheek,  in  a  way,  if  he  didn't. 


PAMELA  51 

He's  not  likely  to  meet  anybody  more  worth  falling  in 
love  with.  But  it  isn't  good  enough,  Pam." 

""Well,  I  shouldn't  worry  about  it,  if  I  were  you. 
Jim  isn't  my  ideal,  though  he's  a  nice  old  thing,  and  I 
think  you're  too  superior  about  him  altogether.  Did 
you  know  Fred  Comfrey  had  come  home?  " 

"  Fred  Comfrey !  "  Norman  frowned.  "  I  shouldn't 
think  you're  likely  to  fall  in  love  with  him,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  bother  falling  in  love !  I'm  leaving  that  to 
you  at  present.  But  there  aren't  many  people  to  play 
with  about  here  just  now.  He  makes  another  one. 
He's  much  improved." 

"  Oh,  Pam,  he's  an  awful  creature.  Surely,  you're 
not  going  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him !  " 

"  I  used  to  hate  him ;  but  he's  quite  different  now. 
I  should  never  have  known  him.  You  know  he  went  out 
to  China,  before  you  came  to  live  here,  and  he  never 
came  home  until  he  joined  up  for  the  war.  He  did  very 
well  in  the  war — got  his  Commission  quite  soon,  and  the 
Military  Cross.  He  was  badly  wounded  too,  and  isn't 
fit  yet.  I'm  sorry  for  him;  and  really,  Norman,  he's 
quite  nice.  Anyhow,  we  couldn't  not  have  him  to  play 
with  us,  because  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Comfrey.  I  expect 
Auntie  Eleanor  will  ask  him  here  too.  He  only  came 
yesterday." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you've  got  to  give  everybody  his 
chance.  He  was  an  unmitigated  beast  as  a  boy,  but 
perhaps  he's  improved.  He  couldn't  very  well  have  got 
any  worse.  Still,  it  does  rather  stick  in  my  gizzard 
that  he  should  be  making  friends  with  you,  as  I  suppose 
he'll  want  to.  I  should  be  a  bit  cautious  if  I  were  you, 


52 

Pam.  After  all,  one  does  know  something  of  what  a 
man  is,  when  one  has  known  him  as  a  boy.  I  should  say 
that  Mr.  Fred  Comfrey  was  a  nasty  specimen,  even  if  he 
has  succeeded  in  disguising  it,  as  he  used  not  to.  How 
long  is  he  staying  here  ?  " 

o"I  think  he  may  stay  in  England  altogether.  He 
has  done  very  well  in  business  in  China,  and  thinks  he 
may  be  able  to  carry  on  in  London." 

"  I  wish  he'd  stayed  in  China.  But  how  long  is  he 
staying  in  Hayslope  ?  " 

"  For  some  time,  I  think.  He  had  to  go  back  to 
China,  directly  he  was  demobbed,  and  hasn't  had  a 
holiday  since  the  war.  You  ought  to  be  nice  to  him, 
Norman.  Poor  Hugo  liked  him.  He  talked  to  me  very 
nicely  about  Hugo  this  morning." 

"  When  did  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  After  church.  Mother  asked  him  to  lunch,  but  he 
thought  he'd  better  go  home." 

"  He  wasn't  at  all  a  good  friend  for  Hugo,  you 
know." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  that's  so  long  ago.  Hugo  im- 
proved too,  afterwards." 

Norman  acquiesced  perfunctorily.  He  knew  that 
Hugo  had  not  at  all  improved,  afterwards,  but  also  that 
Pamela  didn't.  "  Well,  I'll  try  to  forget  what  he  used 
to  be  like,"  he  said.  "  But  don't  let's  talk  about  him 
any  more.  Let's  talk  about  Margaret." 


THE    FAMILY 

COLONEL  ELDEIDGE  rode  into  his  stable-yard  and  de- 
livered up  his  horse  to  Timbs,  who  came  hobbling  out 
to  receive  it  with  a  cheerful  morning  air  and  a  general 
appearance  of  satisfaction  with  himself  and  his  circum- 
tances.  Yet  there  were  those  who  would  have  said 
that  Timbs  had  no  particular  reason  to  be  pleased 
with  the  way  things  had  gone  for  him. 

He  had  come  to  Hayslope  Hall  as  groom  ten  years 
before,  and  had  succeeded  the  old  coachman  four  years 
later.  He  might  have  considered  himself  lucky  then, 
for  he  was  only  twenty-six  years  of  age.  He  had  half 
a  dozen  horses  in  his  stables  and  two  grooms  under 
him.  There  was  also  a  chauffeur  for  the  big  car  and 
the  little  runabout.  Timbs  had  a  young  wife  and  a 
new  baby,  and  comfortable  quarters  in  which  to  keep 
them.  In  fact  there  seemed  nothing  left  for  him  to 
desire,  unless  it  was  another  baby  of  a  sex  comple- 
mentary to  the  first  one. 

Then  the  war  came.  Timbs  joined  up  among  the 
first,  and  was  turned  into  a  good  soldier,  always  cheer- 
ful and  reliable,  and  diligent  in  writing  home  to  the 
young  wife  who  was  being  taken  care  of  at  Hayslope. 
Colonel  Eldridge,  who  had  gone  back  to  soldiering 
himself,  had  exercised  pressure,  where  it  was  required, 
as  it  was  not  in  the  case  of  Timbs,  upon  the  able- 

53 


54     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

bodied  men  on  his  estate  to  join  the  army,  but  had 
done  his  utmost  to  ensure  their  leaving  their  homes 
free  of  anxiety  to  those  dependent  upon  them.  So 
Mrs.  Timbs  and  the  baby  prospered,  while  Timbs 
fought  for  his  country;  but  Mrs.  Timbs  always  wished 
that  the  war  would  end  and  Timbs  would  come  home 
again,  in  which  she  differed  from  many  wives  in  sim- 
ilar circumstances. 

Timbs  did  come  home  at  last,  and  she  did  not  have 
to  wait  for  him  until  quite  the  end.  His  left  leg  was 
shattered,  and  he  had  been  for  a  long  time  in  a  hospital 
before  she  was  allowed  to  have  him.  About  the  time 
the  armistice  was  signed  he  was  ready  for  work  again. 
But  it  was  not  in  his  master's  power  to  give  him  the 
work  he  had  done  before  the  war.  Hayslope  Hall  could 
no  longer  support  a  coachman,  two  or  three  grooms 
and  a,  chauffeur.  Timbs  took  the  place  of  all  of  them. 
One  horse  was  kept  and  both  the  cars,  but  the  bigger 
one  was  seldom  used  because  of  the  price  of  petrol  and 
tires.  Timbs  turned  himself  into  an  efficient  chauffeur, 
and  liked  the  change  in  his  duties.  He  had  higher 
wages  than  before,  but  perhaps  not  quite  so  high  as  he 
could  have  got  elsewhere  if  he  hadn't  preferred  to  stick 
to  his  old  master.  His  quarters  were  the  same,  his  wife 
was  as  devoted  to  him  as  ever,  and  his  baby  had  grown 
into  a  pretty  little  girl  of  seven,  who  was  the  apple  of 
his  eye,  and  made  a  pet  of  by  the  young  ladies.  Timbs 
thought  himself  well  off,  even  with  his  crooked  leg; 
and  perhaps  he  was,  as  things  go  nowadays. 

Timbs  knew  when  the  Colonel  was  in  the  mood  for  a 
little  chat,  and  when  it  was  wise  to  render  quick  serv- 


THE  FAMILY  55 

ice  with  a  silent  tongue.  In  the  good  old  days  the 
Colonel  had  seldom  come  in  from  his  morning  ride 
without  a  cheery  word  or  two  to  this  favourite  servant 
of  his.  He  loved  his  horses  and  found  plenty  to  say 
about  them,  though  most  of  it  might  have  been  said 
many  times  before.  And  he  would  have  something 
to  say  to  Timbs  about  what  he  might  have  seen  in  the 
course  of  his  inspection  of  farms  and  fields,  which  he 
liked  to  undertake  before  breakfast  in  the  summer. 
In  the  autumn  there  were  early  starts  for  cubbing, 
and  then  of  course  there  was  plenty  to  talk  about  on 
the  return. 

The  good  days  did  not  seem  to  have  disappeared 
entirely  when  the  war  was  over,  though  Hugo's  death 
had  made  him  more  silent  than  before,  and  the  reduc- 
tion in  stables  and  outdoor  upkeep  generally  had 
already  begun.  But  there  was  a  season's  hunting,  and 
Pamela  had  made  her  first  appearance  in  the  field. 
Timbs,  with  one  groom  to  help  him,  had  been  kept  busy 
enough,  but  his  first  winter  at  home  had  seemed  to 
him  very  good.  This  was  what  the  Colonel  and  he  had 
always  looked  forward  to — the  time  when  the  young 
ladies  would  hunt  regularly,  one  after  the  other.  Miss 
Pamela  was  good  company  for  her  father.  He  would 
soon  pick  up  his  spirits,  and  everything  would  be  as  it 
had  been  again. 

But  by  the  next  season  the  economies  had  increased. 
There  was  no  more  hunting  from  Hayslope  Hall.  The 
Colonel  kept  one  horse  to  get  about  on,  and  there  was 
an  old  pony  for  pottering  work  on  the  place,  which 
the  younger  children  sometimes  rode.  That  was  what 


56    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

the  war  had  brought  to  Colonel  Eldridge  in  return  for 
his  services,  which  had  included  a  year  in  the  field,  and 
after  that  four  years  of  routine  work  in  various  pro- 
vincial centres  of  industry.  As  a  soldier  he  made  no 
complaints.  At  his  age  he  expected  no  reward 
other  than  the  conviction  of  having  done  his  duty 
where  he  could  be  made  most  useful.  As  a  landowner 
he  had  many  complaints  to  make,  but  kept  them  mostly 
to  himself.  He  had  passed  for  a  rich  man  before  the 
war;  now  he  was  a  poor  one.  But  one  did  not  flaunt 
one's  poverty  before  the  world.  That  was  why  he  had 
dropped  hunting  altogether ;  his  old  Caesar  would  have 
carried  him  well  enough  for  a  day  or  so  a  week,  if  he 
had  cared  to  go  on. 

The  morning  chats  with  Timbs  were  getting  rarer. 
There  would  certainly  be  none  this  morning.  After  a 
look  at  his  master's  face  Timbs  led  Caesar  away  with- 
out a  word,  and  the  Colonel  went  intb  the  house.  Some- 
thing happened  to  put  him  out.  Timbs's  own  face  was 
overcast,  and  it  was  fully  two  minutes  before  he  began 
to  whistle  at  his  work. 

It  was  a  quarter  past  eight.  Breakfast  was  at  half- 
past,  and  as  Colonel  Eldridge  would  ride  no  more  that 
day,  he  went  upstairs  to  change  his  clothes.  He  came 
down  as  the  gong  sounded,  and  his  expression  had 
somewhat  cleared.  He  held  strong  opinions  about 
keeping  an  even  temper  before  his  family. 

An  English  family  assembled  for  breakfast  in  an  old- 
established  country  house — the  nations  of  the  earth 
may  be  invited  to  contemplation  of  it.  Here  at  Hay- 
slope  Hall  was  an  example  that  could  have  been  multi- 


THE  FAMILY  5T 

plied  by  thousands  at  that  hour,  or  at  one  a  little  later ; 
for  as  a  nation  we  are  not  early  risers  except  on  com- 
pulsion. 

The  room  was  large,  but  not  too  large  for  an  air 
of  domesticity  when  there  was  only  the  family  to  use 
it.  It  had  three  long  small-paned  windows,  which  on 
this  summer  morning  were  open  to  the  wide,  yet  secluded 
garden.  The  walls  were  hung  with  pictures,  some  good, 
some  indifferent,  and  all  so  familiar  that  they  were 
never  looked  at.  Of  the  portraits  none  were  older 
than  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century;  but  five  or 
six  generations  of  men  and  women  of  the  same  blood 
who  have  lived  in  the  same  house,  and,  allowing  for 
differences  of  era,  in  much  the  same  way,  is  already 
something  substantial  in  the  way  of  background.  The 
furniture  was  not  more  than  about  a  hundred  years 
old,  of  that  period  of  solid  and  dignified  ugliness 
which  was  yet  so  much  more  satisfactory  than 
the  fashions  succeeding  it  that  by  contrast  with 
them  it  is  now  beginning  to  acquire  merit.  How 
it  had  come  to  repla.ce  the  eighteenth  century 
furniture  which  the  periwigged  gentlemen  and  hooped 
ladies  on  the  walls  had  used  when  in  the  flesh  was  now 
forgotten;  but  it  is  only  of  late  years  that  old  furni- 
ture has  been  preferred  to  new,  and  there  was  nothing 
remarkable  in  this.  The  refurnishing  of  the  dining- 
room  might  very  well  have  been  set  in  hand  again  since 
the  last  clearing  out  a  hundred  years  before  if  it  had 
not  been  thought  that  it  would  do  very  well  as  it  was, 
and  that  there  were  more  important  rooms  to  spend 
money  on,  if  money  was  to  be  spent  in  this  way.  As 


58 

a  setting  for  the  family  that  now  used  it  the  room  was 
eloquent  of  an  ancestry  already  respectably  established, 
and  it  told  somehow  of  interests  that  were  not  mark- 
edly concerned  with  the  decorations  and  appointments 
of  a  house.  To  the  Eldridges,  their  dining-room  was 
the  place  for  the  enjoyment  of  food  and  the  sociability 
that  went  therewith,  and  it  fulfilled  all  purposes  that 
could  be  required  of  it.  It  was  only  in  the  matter  of 
large  assemblies,  of  which  the  great  expanse  of  dark 
mahogany  and  the  score  or  so  of  well-padded  chairs 
seemed  to  make  perpetual  suggestion,  that  any  incon- 
gruity might  have  been  felt.  The  time  for  that  was 
not  now.  But  with  the  table  lessened  to  the  needs  of 
family  use  and  the  space  around  it  thus  agreeably  in- 
creased, the  normal  occupation  of  the  room  was  suffi- 
cient for  it.  Here  began  the  day  with  the  assembling 
of  those  who  would  go  their  ways,  some  together  and 
some  apart,  throughout  its  course,  but  all  with  a  sense 
of  the  nearness  of  the  rest;  and  here  they  would  meet 
twice  again  before  the  day  was  done,  to  keep  alive  one 
of  the  best  of  the  good  things  that  English  country  life 
has  cherished  and  made  complete — the  community  of 
the  family. 

Colonel  Eldridge,  after  greeting  his  daughters  with 
a  mixture  of  formality  and  affection,  occupied  himself 
with  his  breakfast  and  the  letters  which  lay  in  a  little 
pile  beside  his  plate.  It  had  not  been  his  habit  to  deal 
thus  with  his  correspondence  in  the  days  before  the 
war.  He  had  been  more  ready  to  talk  then.  He  would 
choose  a  few  letters  out  of  the  pile  and  perhaps  discuss 
them,  as  Miss.  Eldridge  did  with  hers  at  the  other  end 


THE  FAMILY  59 

of  the  table,  and  leave  the  rest  for  afterwards.  Now 
he  went  through  them  all,  business  letters  as  well  as 
private,  and,  schooled  as  he  was  to  hide  his  emotions, 
he  could  not  always  keep  from  his  face  some  expression 
of  annoyance,  or  even  dismay.  But  it  was  only  in  his 
face  that  this  showed,  and  his  wife  and  daughters  knew 
that  it  was  not  meant  to  show  at  all.  By  degrees  they 
had  learnt  to  ignore  it.  If  they  addressed  him  he 
would  always  respond,  and  he  would  have  been  annoyed 
if  they  had  tried  to  suit  themselves  to  his  moods.  He 
liked  to  hear  them  chattering  gaily  among  themselves, 
though  he  was  not  always  ready  to  join  in  their  chat- 
ter. They  were,  indeed,  the  reward  that  all  his  anxie- 
ties and  schemings  brought  him.  It  was  the  happiness 
and  freedom  of  their  lives  in  the  home  which  it  be- 
hooved him  to  keep  intact  about  them  that  sweetened 
it  to  him.  But  for  them  there  would  have  been  no  anx- 
iety, but  only  some  reduction  of  opportunities  which 
would  still  have  left  the  main  interests  of  his  life 
untouched. 

Colonel  Eldridge  was  very  neat  in  his  suit  of  grey 
tweed,  well-cut,  well-brushed,  but  well-worn,  his  white 
stock  creaseless,  his  figure  thin  and  a  little  stiff,  but 
not  with  the  stiffness  of  age,  his  gold-rimmed  glasses 
on  the  ridge  of  his  thin,  straight  nose,  his  well-shaped 
nervous  hands  manipulating  his  papers  or  the  imple- 
ments of  his  meal.  He  was  as  different  as  possible,  in 
outward  appearance,  from  those  ancestors  of  his  whose 
pictures  hung  upon  the  walls ;  but  probably  he  was  very 
like  them  at  root.  Certainly  there  was  not  one  who 
had  been  more  attached  to  the  house  and  acres  which 


60     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

had  been  theirs  and  were  now  his.  He  had  been  a  good 
soldier,  of  a  limited  kind,  but  he  was  above  all  a  country 
gentleman,  and  looked  thoroughly  in  his  place  in  this 
room,  which  could  only  have  been  found,  just  as  it  was, 
in  an  English  country  house. 

Mrs.  Eldridge  also  looked  thoroughly  in  place  be- 
hind the  old  silver  and  china  of  her  equipage.  She 
always  came  down  to  breakfast  in  a  state  of  apparent 
content  with  herself  and  her  surroundings,  cool  and 
unruffled  both  in  dress  and  demeanour.  In  the  time  that 
was  past  there  had  been  so  much  to  look  forward  to  in 
the  day  of  which  this  gathering  was  the  inauguration. 
Though  not,  presumably,  attached  to  the  life  of  the 
country  by  the  same  ties  as  bound  her  husband,  and 
enjoying  her  life  equally  when  the  periodic  moves  were 
made  to  London,  she  would  have  chosen  the  country 
rather  than  the  town  for  permanent  residence.  The 
choice  had  not  been  hers,  but  it  had  had  to  be  made. 
Much  had  gone  that  had  made  life  agreeable  to  her  at 
Hayslope,  but  much  remained.  On  these  summer  morn- 
ings it  was  not  so  unlike  what  it  had  always  been  to 
her.  There  was  the  pleasant  meal  with  her  husband 
and  her  children,  whom  she  loved ;  the  appointments  of 
the  table,  in  which  she  never  failed  to  take  pleasure, 
though  she  had  used  them  regularly  for  over  twenty 
years ;  the  sense  of  being  newly  and  becomingly 
dressed;  the  birds  singing  in  the  garden,  which  was 
so  fresh  and  inviting,  and  with  the  windows  open  so 
much  a  part,  as  it  were,  of  the  room  itself.  Her  letters 
never  brought  her  worries,  as  her  husband's  sometimes 
brought  him — only  occasionally  a  mild  regret  for  op- 


THE  FAMILY  61 

portunities  of  which  she  could  no  longer  take  advan- 
tage. But  at  this  time  of  the  day  she  was  not  much 
inclined  to  want  m'ore  than  she  had.  Her  domestic 
duties  were  immediately  in  front  of  her,  and  she  en j  oyed 
them.  She  enjoyed  them  even  more  than  before,  for  with 
fewer  servants  more  depended  on  her.  Only  half  of  her 
desired  the  distractions  due  to  wealth;  the  rest  of  her 
was  pure  domesticity.  She  had  never  been  happier 
than  during  the  first  few  years  of  married  life,  before 
her  husband  had  succeeded  his  father  as  Squire  of  Hay- 
slope.  She  was  happy  now  in  much  the  same  respon- 
sibilities as  had  then  devolved  upon  her,  had  she  but 
known  it.  In  these  early  hours  of  the  day  the  con- 
sciousness of  what  she  had  lost  did  not  trouble  her. 
Besides,  something  might  always  happen  in  the  long 
hours  before  her.  She  was  not  so  old  as  to  have  lost 
that  sense  of  the  unexpected. 

Pamela  was  happy  too.  She  might  grumble  some- 
times— to  Norman — about  the  restrictions  that  had 
come  to  spoil  the  life  of  Hayslope  Hall ;  but  she  loved 
it.  And  all  the  future  was  before  her,  golden  and 
glamorous.  It  wrapped  her  in  a  sort  of  happy  aura, 
which  contained  no  definite  point  of  desire.  Anything 
might  happen  to  her,  in  any  one  of  these  summer  days, 
which  began  with  the  family  meeting  at  breakfast. 
Something  was  bound  to  happen  some  day,  and  in  the 
meantime  life  was  sweet,  and  the  shadow  that  had  come 
to  lie  over  her  home  hardly  darkened  at  all  the  radiance 
in  which  she  walked. 

Judith  was  as  pretty  as  Pamela  in  her  way,  which 
was  an  entirely  different  way.  She  was  the  only  dark 


62    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

member  of  the  family,  now  that  Hugo  was  dead.  Some 
forgotten  ancestress  had  bequeathed  her  her  lustrous 
hair,  of  which  the  shadows  were  almost  visibly  blue,  and 
her  large,  deep,  solemn  eyes.  Her  very  skin  was  dark, 
but  with  the  bloom  of  youth  on  it,  and  the  healthy 
blood  that  flowed  beneath  its  soft  surface,  it  was  rich 
and  delicate.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  she  had  not  yet 
come  into  the  full  heritage  of  her  beauty,  which  did 
not  depend  so  much  as  Pamela's  upon  youth.  She 
hardly  even  seemed  aware  of  it,  and  clothes  were  not 
yet  a  matter  of  much  interest  to  her.  She  had  alterna- 
tions of  childish  high  spirits  and  brooding  reflection. 
Out  of  doors  she  was  still  something  of  a  tomboy,  in 
her  young  and  restless  energy;  but  she  would  sit  for 
hours  over  a  book,  and  in  those  moods  she  was  oblivi- 
ous to  everybody  and  everything  around  her.  She  sel- 
dom talked  about  what  she  read,  and  indeed  her  read- 
ing would  have  been  a  puzzle  to  anyone  who  had  tried 
to  draw  inferences  of  literary  taste  from  it.  Pamela 
had  once  reported  to  Norman  the  books  over  which 
Judith  had  spent  hours  of  a  wet  day.  They  were 
Grimm's  Fairy  Tales,  "  The  Wide,  Wide  World,"  and 
Bacon's  Essays,  and  she  seemed  to  have  spent  about  the 
same  time  over  each.  Pamela  held  that  she  had  no 
literary  taste  whatever;  Norman  was  inclined  to  treat 
her  preferences  as  a  touchstone  of  merit.  If  Judith 
liked  something,  it  was  probably  good.  This  theory 
was  strengthened  when  she  said  she  liked  a  picture  of 
Gaugin's,  of  which  he  submitted  to  her  a  reproduction, 
and  weakened  by  her  absorption  in  Martin  Tupper's 
"  Proverbial  Philosophy,"  which  she  had  found  in  the 


THE  FAMILY  63 

library  and  carried  up  to  her  room  with  her.  She  was 
quite  ready  to  laugh  with  them  over  her  tastes,  but  she 
would  never  give  any  explanation  of  them.  "  I  like  it," 
or  "  I  don't  like  it,"  was  her  sole  contribution  to  liter- 
ary criticism,  and  she  would  never  be  moved  a  hair's 
breadth  by  any  consensus  of  opinion.  Judith  went  her 
own  way  in  everything,  but  her  way  at  present  was  con- 
fined almost  entirely  to  Hayslope,  where  she  found 
everything  that  she  wanted.  Less  than  Pamela  did  she 
feel  the  loss  of  what  had  made  the  life  of  her  home 
rich  in  interest  before  the  war.  She  had  grown  up 
from  childhood  under  the  new  conditions  and  was 
happy  in  them. 

The  exceptional  family  beauty  seemed  to  have 
stopped  short  at  Judith.  Alice  and  Isabelle,  who  were 
thirteen  and  twelve,  respectively,  had  their  abundant 
fair  hair  to  recommend  them,  and  their  active  youth,  but 
nothing  much  else  as  yet  in  the  way  of  looks.  They 
were  agreeable  children,  much  alike  in  their  eager  inter- 
est in  whatever  went  on  around  them,  and  their  unerr- 
ing pursuit  of  pleasure.  They  were  always  "  the  chil- 
dren "  to  the  rest  of  the  family,  and  what  they  thought 
was  of  small  importance,  though  what  they  did  some- 
times obtruded  itself  upon  their  elders.  Sitting  at 
breakfast,  one  on  either  side  of  their  mother,  in  their 
neat  clothes,  which  would  not  be  so  neat  later  on  in  the 
day,  their  thick  manes  confined  in  heavy  plaits,  they 
seemed  eminently  good  children,  showing  a  healthy 
appetite,  but  no  greediness,  in  the  consumption  of 
viands,  taking  a  bright  part  in  the  conversation  when 
it  touched  their  orbit,  but  not  obtruding  themselves  in 


64    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

such  a  way  as  to  make  their  company  noxious.  Their 
presence  at  the  breakfast  "table  seemed,  indeed,  to 
heighten  the  effect  of  a  family  at  one  and  at  peace; 
for  young  children  in  a  happy  home  have  no  desires 
outside  it.  Their  parents,  their  brothers  and  sisters, 
even  the  servants  and  dependants  who  are  also  part  of 
the  family  for  the  time  being,  are  the  chief  characters 
in  their  little  world.  Not  even  their  parents  themselves 
are  so  bounded  in  their  interests  by  the  home  they 
have  made  for  them.  And  the  wonderful  imagination 
of  children  makes  it  the  chief  place  of  delight  to  them, 
even  where  its  opportunities  are  small.  Opportunities 
were  not  small  at  Hayslope  Hall  for  these  two,  and 
they  were  as  happy  as  children  of  their  age  could  very 
well  be. 

If  Miss  Baldwin,  their  governess,  was  not  completely 
happy — as  what  woman  living  always  in  other  people's 
houses  can  be? — she  was  as  contented  as  the  accidents 
of  her  lot  in  life  could  make  her.  She  was  a  precise 
spinster  of  middle  age,  and  sat  very  prim  and  mindful 
of  her  manners  between  Pamela  and  Alice,  never  speak- 
ing unless  when  spoken  to,  but  then  speaking  with  an 
attention  to  the  composition  of  sentences  and  the  cor- 
rect enunciation  of  her  vowels  which  was  a  lesson  to 
everybody  present,  and  intended  to  be  so  to  at  least 
two  of  them.  Colonel  Eldridge  addressed  her  directly, 
at  least  once  in  the  course  of  every  meal  at  which  she 
was  present,  out  of  politeness.  Mrs.  Eldridge  always 
found  it  difficult  to  remember  that  she  was  there,  but 
also  addressed  her  occasionally;  but  her  attention  was 
apt  to  wander  over  the  reply. 


THE  FAMILY  65 

Miss  Baldwin  had  been  at  Hayslope  for  two  years, 
but  was  no  nearer  to  making  one  of  the  family  circle 
than  when  she  arrived.  She  was  strict  in  the  school- 
room and  a  good  teacher  in  a  limited  way,  but  without 
any  real  interest  in  the  subjects  which  she  taught. 
Nobody  would  have  thought,  from  her  appearance  and 
manner,  that  she  was  an  incurable  sentimentalist.  She 
lived  in  a  world  of  her  own — a  world  of  romance,  of 
which  the  materials  were  sent  her  once  a  week  in  official- 
looking  long  envelopes  with  a  typewritten  address. 
Her  time  came  when  the  children  were  in  bed,  and  the 
life  of  the  house,  in  which  she  had  no  wish  to  take  part, 
was  concentrated  below.  Then,  in  the  large  quiet 
schoolroom,  sitting  by  the  open  window  in  the  summer, 
or  in  winter  time  by  the  fire,  she  would  be  wafted  away 
from  the  actual  life  about  her,  with  all  its  restrictions 
for  one  of  her  age  and  class,  to  live  richly  and  freely 
with  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  her  chosen  world. 
Baldness  of  narrative  troubled  her  not  at  all.  In  the 
novels  by  authors  of  repute  which  she  sometimes  heard 
people  discussing,  there  seemed  no  room  for  the  play 
of  imagination;  the  novelist  would  have  it  just  so  and 
not  otherwise,  and  the  characters  to  which  he  intro- 
duced his  readers  were  so  much  like  the  characters  one 
might  meet  at  any  time  in  the  dull  and  sterile  flesh. 
Those  strong  heroes  of  her  favourite  romances  were  as 
gods  beside  the  emasculate  earth-dwellers  who  stood  for 
hero  even  in  the  best  of  stories  bound  between  boards; 
the  very  virtue  of  their  titles,  if  titles  they  had,  seemed 
to  be  denied  them.  Nor  did  the  heroines  please  her  any 
better.  She  could  never  imagine  herself  one  of  them 


66    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

with  any  pleasure.  If  stately,  they  were  never  stately 
enough ;  if  blushing  and  timid,  they  were  merely  passed 
by  as  of  no  account.  Even  Ouida,  for  whom  she  made 
an  exception,  having  read  some  of  her  novels  in  early 
life,  under  a  strong  sense  of  immodesty,  concerned  her- 
self with  unessentials.  Miss  Baldwin  wanted  no  pages 
of  description,  however  poetic.  She  could  get  that  in 
Wordsworth,  duly  annotated,  so  that  there  should  be 
no  mistake  as  to  locality.  If  it  was  question  of  a  gar- 
den in  which  a  love  scene  was  to  be  enacted,  she  only 
wanted  to  imagine  it  for  herself — the  most  beautiful 
garden  that  ever  was,  not  without  indications  of  wealth 
on  the  part  of  its  owners ;  or  if  a  cottage  garden,  the 
mere  mention  of  roses  and  honeysuckle  would  suffice. 
It  was  the  people  who  mattered  and  what  happened  to 
them,  and  with  them  she  smiled  and  wept,  and  felt,  to 
the  depths  of  her  being. 

So  perhaps  Miss  Baldwin  was  happy  after  all,  if  not 
in  the  circumstances  of  her  daily  life,  which  she  went 
through  conscientiously  and  efficiently,  in  that  paradise 
the  gates  of  which  were  always  open  to  her,  where 
men  were  as  gods,  and  women  were  worshipped  by 
them,  and  none  of  them  ever  behaved  in  the  way  that 
Miss  Baldwin  was  always  impressing  upon  her  pupils 
was  the  only  possible  way  to  behave. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BARTON'S  CLOSE 

SUCH  was  the  family  party  that  sat  round  the  break- 
fast table  at  Hayslope  Hall  on  that  summer  morning. 
Colonel  Eldridge  was  the  only  member  of  it  upon  whom 
a  weight  seemed  to  lie,  and  his  disturbance  of  mind 
was  guessed  at  by  nobody  but  his  wife,  who  threw 
occasional  exploratory  and  sympathetic  glances  at  him, 
but  made  no  particular  effort  to  lighten  his  mood, 
unless  by  being  more  than  usually  responsive  to  the 
chatter  of  the  girls.  Whatever  it  was  that  was  troubling 
him,  she  would  hear  of  it  after  breakfast,  when  she 
always  went  to  his  room  with  him  before  setting  herself 
to  the  occupations  that  would  keep  them  apart  for 
the  rest  of  the  morning. 

She  was  a  trifle  apprehensive  as  to  whether  she  her- 
self might  not  have  given  him  cause  for  displeasure. 
He  had  refused  to  dine  at  Pershore  Castle  two  nights 
before,  but  she  and  Pamela  had  gone,  and  he  had  not 
objected  to  that.  What  he  might  possibly  object  to, 
however,  was  the  invitation  she  had  given  to  young 
Lord  Horsham  to  lunch  at  Hayslope  that  very  day. 
She  had  not  told  him  yet  that  she  had  done  so,  for 
her  reason  for  asking  the  young  man  had  been  quite 
clearly  defined  in  her  own  mind,  and  she  did  not  want 
him  to  guess  at  it.  Perhaps  Pamela  had  told  him  that 

67 


68     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Horsham  was  coming,  he  had  guessed  why,  and  was 
displeased  about  it. 

But  no  !  She  knew  before  breakfast  was  over  that  that 
was  not  the  cause  of  his  mood. 

Pamela  said :  "  Jim  is  coming  to  lunch  and  I  suppose 
he  will  want  to  play  tennis  afterwards.  We'd  better 
mow  the  lawn,  Judy,  and  mark  out  the  court  again." 

Colonel  Eldridge  frowned,  and  Mrs.  Eldridge's  spirit 
drooped,  but  rose  again  when  he  said :  "  It  isn't  your 
business  to  mow  lawns.  That's  one  of  the  things  that 
Perkins  ought  to  see  to." 

Poor  dear  man,  he  hated  the  idea  of  his  daughters 
doing  work  that  had  always  been  done  as  a  matter  of 
course  by  servants.  He  was  sore  about  all  the  things 
that  they  ought  to  have  had  and  he  could  no  longer 
give  them,  even  when  they  were  things  that  made  no 
difference  to  tkem  whatever. 

"  Oh,  we  like  doing  it,  Daddy,"  said  Pamela.  "  It 
makes  us  feel  that  we've  earned  our  games  on  it.  Don't 
deprive  us  of  the  rewards  of  virtue." 

He  left  the  subject.  "You'd  better  ask  Fred  Com- 
frey  to  lunch,  if  Horsham  is  coming,"  he  said.  "  You'll 
want  a  four,  and  I  shan't  be  able  to  play  this  after- 
noon." 

So  it  was  settled,  to  Mrs.  Eldridge's  relief.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  Horsham  had  been  asked  to  Hay- 
slope  Hall  since  the  disturbance  in  which  he  had  been 
concerned,  and  her  husband  had  made  no  comment  on 
it.  It  was  not  that  that  was  troubling  him. 

Nevertheless,  she  made  first  mention  of  it  when  they 
went  into  his  room  together.  "  I'm  glad  you  don't 


BARTON'S  CLOSE  69 

mind  Jim  coming  here,"  she  said.  "  I  forgot  to  tell 
you  that  I'd  asked  him." 

"  Mind  him !  Oh,  no,  I  don't  mind  him.  It  wasn't 
he  who  behaved  in  any  way  that  I  could  be  annoyed 
over.  And  as  for  the  Crowboroughs,  I  shan't  keep  it 
up  against  them  any  longer.  I  couldn't  bring  myself 
to  go  over  there  en  Monday,  but  I'm  glad  you  and 
Pamela  went.  We  must  get  them  over  here  some  time. 
Cynthia,  I'm  extremely  annoyed  at  something  I've  seen 
this  morning." 

"Yes,  dear?     What  is  it?  " 

She  sat  herself  down  by  the  window,  while  he  stood 
by  his  writing  table,  or  moved  between  it  and  the  fire- 
place, while  he  unburdened  himself. 

"  William  talked  to  me  on  Sunday  about  making 
an  addition  to  his  garden — a  big  addition,  taking  in  a 
grazing  meadow  of  four  acres;  Barton's  Close,  it's 
called — at  the  bottom  of  the  wood." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know  it,  and  William  and  Eleanor  told 
me  about  it.  You  don't  object,  do  you?" 

"  Object !  It  means  cutting  up  pasture,  and  he  has 
no  right  to  do  that  without  my  permission;  no  right 
whatever.  It  isn't  a  thing  that  ought  to  be  done  in  these 
days.  Besides,  his  garden  is  out  and  away  too  big  as  it 
is.  This  addition  would  make  it  double  the  size  of  our 
garden.  It's  quite  unreasonable.  The  house  isn't  his. 
I  let  it  to  him  as  a  country  cottage,  and  never  thought 
of  it  being  turned  into  a  large  country  house  wanting 
a  great  deal  of  money  to  keep  it  up.  I  talked  to  him 
about  all  that  on  Sunday,  and  thought  he  understood. 
Certainly  I  didn't  consent  to  cutting  up  Barton's  Close, 


70    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

and  he  must  have  known  I  didn't.  But  I  happened  to  go 
down  there  this  morning,  and  they  are  already  at  work 
— his  own  gardeners  and  half  a  dozen  labourers  besides. 
Really,  it's  too  bad.  From  what  Coombe  told  me,  it 
was  all  settled  last  week — design  and  everything,  and 
the  labour  arranged  for.  So  it  was  a  mere  pretence 
asking  for  my  permission  at  all.  I  didn't  give  it; 
yet  he  goes  straight  away  and  puts  the  work  in 
hand." 

"  Did  you  say  definitely  that  you  wouldn't  consent?  " 
Mrs.  Eldridge  asked.  She  was  rather  taken  aback. 
She  knew  all  about  those  garden  plans,  and  had  even 
made  suggestions  of  her  own  about  them.  William  had 
mentioned  once  the  necessity  of  asking  a  landlord's 
permission  to  cut  up  pasture,  but  it  had  been  taken  for 
granted  that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  about  that. 
She  was  not  quite  sure  that  she  had  not  said  herself 
that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  about  that.  Certainly 
it  had  never  crossed  her  mind  that  there  would  be. 

"  I  objected,"  said  her  husband  decisively.  "  Possi- 
bly I  didn't  say  in  so  many  words:  'No,  you  can't  do 
it.'  I  shouldn't  say  that  to  William.  I  pointed  out  to 
him  plainly  why  it  was  inadvisable,  and  he  seemed  to 
understand." 

"  Is  it  very  important,  Edmund?  There's  plenty  of 
pasture  about  there,  isn't  there?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  there's  more  than  can  be  made 
use  of.  But  that  wasn't  the  chief  point.  It's  the 
enlarging  and  enlarging  at  the  Grange  that  has  become 
objectionable.  It  has  gone  beyond  all  reasonable 
grounds  already.  All  very  well,  as  long  as  William  is 


BARTON'S  CLOSE  71 

there,  and  treats  it  as  a  toy  on  which  to  spend  his 
money.  But  if  anything  happens,  it  will  be  a  white  ele- 
phant— a  big  house  with  no  land  to  it,  which  nobody 
else  is  likely  to  want,  and  no  longer  any  good  as  a 
second  house  on  'the  place,  which  it  has  always  been 
before.  You  and  the  girls  couldn't  live  there  if  any- 
thing happened  to  me." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I 
don't  want  to  think  of  it  either.  Of  course  William 
has  become  very  lavish;  but  he  is  so  rich  now  that  I 
suppose  it  doesn't  matter.  And  it  is  different,  isn't  it, 
dear,  now  that  poor  Hugo  is  dead?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  what  he  kept  driving  in  on  me.  He'll 
come  after  me  here.  I'm  not  likely  to  forget  it.  Still, 
the  place  is  mine,  as  long  as  I'm  alive,  and  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  hand  over  the  reins  to  William.  He's  no  right 
to  act  in  that  way,  as  if  I  counted  for  nothing." 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  it's  unfortunate.  What  are  you 
going  to  do?  I  suppose  you  didn't  tell  Coombe  to  stop 
the  work  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  shouldn't  put  an  affront  upon  William 
before  his  servants.  Seems  to  me  he's  no  objection  to 
putting  an  affront  upon  me.  Coombe  knew  well 
enough  that  I  hadn't  been  consulted,  and  that  I  ought 
to  have  been.  I  don't  like  that  fellow  Coombe.  He 
may  be  a  very  good  head-gardener,  but  he  doesn't  come 
from  these  parts,  and  he  doesn't  seem  to  realize  how 
things  are.  He's  respectful  enough  in  manner,  but  he 
was  giving  me  to  understand  all  the  time  that  his 
master  was  a  much  bigger  man  than  I  was,  and  he 
wished  I'd  clear  out  and  leave  him  to  go  on  with  his 


72    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

work.  At  one  point  I  really  did  think  of  ordering  him 
to  knock  it  off.  I  could  have  done  it,  and  I  think  he'd 
have  been  rather  surprised  if  I  had." 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't.  It's  tiresome,  of  course ; 
but  we  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  the  Williams,  do 
we?  You're  not  going  to  tell  him,  to  stop  it,  are 
you?" 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  swallow  it.  William 
is  such  a  much  bigger  man  than  I  am  now.  He's  made 
a  lot  of  money,  and  they've  knighted  him.  I  dare  say 
they'll  give  him,  a  peerage,  if  he  makes  much  more.  / 
can't  stand  out  against  him.  I'm  only  an  old  dug-out 
of  a  soldier,  and  don't  matter." 

"  Well,  dear,  you're  Squire  of  Hayslope,  which 
counts  for  something.  As  for  me,  I'd  rather  be  Mrs. 
Eldridge  of  Hayslope  Hall  than  Lady  Eldridge  of 
Hayslope  Grange.  I  don't  mean  I'd  rather  be  me 
than  Eleanor,  though  of  course  I  would.  But  she  isn't 
spoilt  by  all  their  money,  and  I  certainly  don't  want 
to  quarrel  with  her." 

"  Oh,  quarrel !  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  William, 
either.  We've  been  good  friends  all  our  lives,  and 
nobody's  more  pleased  with  his  success  than  I  am. 
Still,  what  I  feel,  and  feel  strongly,  is  that  he  ought 
not  to  make  his  success  an  excuse  for  changing  his 
attitude  towards  me.  I'm  his  elder  brother,  and  he  has 
always  treated  me  so  until  lately.  He'd  never  have 
thought  of  doing  a  thing  like  this  a  few  years  ago,  and 
he  wants  telling  so.  Then  I  dare  say  we  shall  get  on 
as  we  ought  to.  This  has  got  to  be  the  last  of  it. 
Anything  further  I  shall  veto.  The  Grange  is  mine  as 


BARTON'S  CLOSE  73 

well  as  the  Hall.  When  I'm  dead  he  can  do  what  he 
likes  with  both  of  them.  Until  then  he  must  be  content 
with  what  he  has." 

"  Oh,  I  think  he  will  be.  And  he's  sure  to  see  your 
point,  if  you  put  it  to  him  without  irritation.  Of 
course  you  are  irritated,  dear,  and  it's  only  natural. 
I  should  be  myself,  though  I'm  not  an  irritable  person. 
I  flatter  myself  that  I  can  see  below  the  surface  of 
things,  and  I'm  sure  William  is  really  devoted  to 
you,  and  looks  up  to  you.  He  wouldn't  want  to 
do  anything  to  displease  you,  and  Eleanor  would 
be  horrified  at  the  very  idea.  Eleanor  is  very 
level-headed.  I  have  a  great  admiration  for  her, 
and  I'm  not  a  woman  who  gives  her  admiration  to  every- 
body. Just  say  something  to  William  when  they 
come  down  again,  and  I'll  say  something  to  Eleanor: 
and  I'm  sure  everything  will  be  all  right  for  the 
future." 

"  They  are  not  coming  down  this  week ;  and  I  have 
something  else  to  write  to  William  about.  I  shall  write 
about  this  too,  and  if  he  takes  what  I  say  in  the  right 
spirit  I  shan't  mention  it  again." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  rose.  "  Oh,  I'm  sure  he  will,"  she  said, 
"  especially  if  you  don't  show  irritation,  dear.  It's 
always  a  mistake  to  show  irritation.  Now  I  must  go 
and  see  about  things.  Lunch  at  half-past  one.  That 
will  give  us  a  nice  long  morning." 

She  kissed  him,  as  she  always  did,  and  went  out.  He 
had  already  lost  some  of  the  irritation  which  she  had 
so  deprecated.  If  he  had  sat  down  and  written  to  his 
brother  without  further  reflection,  he  would  probably 


74     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

have  made  a  mild  protest  against  the  gardening  scheme 
and  at  the  most  reminded  him  of  certain  arguments 
that  he  had  used  to  him  already.  But  his  pen  never 
got  started  very  easily.  He  had  to  think  over  the  best 
way  of  putting  the  business  affair  upon  which  he  had 
meant  to  write,  and  when  that  was  decided  his  mind 
went  back  to  the  other  question,  and  his  anger  rose  again 
at  the  way  in  which  he  had  been  treated.  When  he  did 
sit  down  to  his  table,  it  was  with  a  face  as  dark  as  he 
had  worn  on  riding  into  the  stable-yard  an  hour  before, 
and  he  embarked  upon  his  protest  at  once. 

"Dear  William: — I  was  much  annoyed  this  morn- 
ing, and  I  must  say  surprised  too,  to  find  that  you  had 
disregarded  my  wishes  in  the  matter  of  Barton's  Close, 
and  that  there  is  a  small  army  of  men  there  already, 
cutting  it  up.  I  don't  want  to  go  again  into  the  rea- 
sons I  gave  you  on  Sunday  for  my  objection  to  turning 
the  greater  part  of  your  holding  into  an  extravagant 
pleasure  garden.  They  seem  to  me  to  be  eminently 
sound,  and  I  do  not  remember  your  bringing  any 
counter-arguments  that  would  affect  them.  What  you 
have  done  is  simply  to  ignore  them,  and  treat  me  on 
my  own  property  as  if  my  undoubted  rights  in  a  matter 
of  this  sort  could  be  set  aside  with  not  even  so  much 
as  a  word  of  warning.  I  must  say  now  at  least,  that 
this  sort  of  treatment  must  stop.  However  superior 
your  standing  may  be  in  the  world  outside,  here  at 
Hayslope  I  am  on  my  own  ground,  and  you  ought  to 
show  respect  to  my  position,  as  until  lately  you  always 
have  done." 


BARTON'S  CLOSE  75 

A  pause  came  to  the  rapid  scratching  of  the  pen, 
and  Colonel  Eldridge  looked  up  towards  the  garden 
outside,  so  quiet  and  green  and  happy,  with  the  whirr 
of  the  mowing-machine  already  to  be  heard  where  the 
girls  were  busy  with  the  lawn,  and  their  young  voices 
coming  to  him  between  their  bursts  of  energy.  His 
face  had  cleared.  He  had  written  a  straightforward 
protest,  without  any  beating  about  the  bush.  There 
was  no  need  to  say  more,  though  more  might  very  well 
have  been  said.  In  days  gone  by  William  had  treated 
him  with  the  respect  due  frrm  a  younger  brother  to 
the  head  of  the  family.  There  had  been  affection  be- 
tween them  from  their  early  childhood,  but  the  elder 
brother  had  been  the  leading  spirit,  as  was  only  right, 
and  when  it  had  been  necessary  to  rebuke  the  younger 
he  had  done  it  in  much  the  same  way  as  this.  William 
had  accepted  the  rebuke  and  they  had  remained  as 
good  friends  as  before.  This  would  be  all  that  would 
be  wanted.  William  could  have  his  garden,  which,  after 
all,  didn't  so  much  matter  with  things  as  they  were  now 
— poor  Hugo  dead  and  he  the  one  to  come  after — 
although — although — 

The  frown  returned  faintly  to  his  face,  and  he  added 
another  paragraph: 

"  You  said  on  Sunday  that  in  spite  of  all  the  money 
you  had  spent  on  your  garden,  this  was  really  a  better 
one.  Well,  you  know  that  I  have  had  to  cut  down 
labour  in  it,  and  at  this  moment  Pamela  and  Judith 
are  at  work  on  the  tennis  lawn,  which  they  have  to  keep 
in  order  themselves  if  they  want  to  play  on  it.  That's 


76    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

how  it  is  here  at  Hayslope  Hall  now,  and  the  girls  are 
happy  enough,  though  I  can't  spend  what  I  used  to  on 
them,  and  what  I  should  like  to.  So  it  really  isn't 
necessary,  especially  in  these  days,  when  nearly  every- 
body is  feeling  the  pinch,  to  spend  a  fortune  on  a  gar- 
den to  get  pleasure  out  of  it.  If  I  may  say  so,  I  think 
there's  even  a  touch  of  vulgarity  in  it." 

Another  pause.  He  didn't  want  his  pen  to  run  away 
with  him.  Didn't  the  last  sentence  go  rather  beyond 
what  he  could  say  to  William  without  offence? 

No.  They  had  had  that  out  once,  years  before,  in 
their  father's  time.  Edmund  Eldridge  was  at  home  on 
leave  from  the  Curragh,  and  William  on  summer  vaca- 
tion from  Cambridge.  They  were  driving  over  to  lunch 
at  Pershore  Castle,  and  William  appeared  for  the  ex- 
pedition in  a  pair  of  lemon-coloured  spats,  a  form  of 
decorative  summer  attire  then  in  its  infancy.  The  cav- 
alry subaltern,  spick  and  span  in  a  style  of  sober  cor- 
rectitude,  objected  to  the  lemon-coloured  spats,  and 
used  the  same  word,  vulgarity,  in  connection  with 
them;  and  the  undergraduate  bowed  meekly  to  his  rul- 
ing and  took  them  off. 

Better  leave  it  at  that,  though.  He  had  said  quite 
enough  to  bring  William  to  his  bearings,  and  relieved 
his  own  mind  of  the  annoyance  that  had  irked  it.  It 
was  with  quite  another  feeling  underlying  his  words 
that  he  went  on  to  write  about  the  estate  affairs  in 
which  he  was  relying  upon  William's  help  to  deal  with 
the  Government.  But  this  was  not  a  matter  in  which 
there  could  be  much  indication  of  any  state  of  feeling, 


BARTON'S  CLOSE  77 

unless  it  was  annoyance  with  the  obliquity  of  the 
Department  concerned;  and  his  letter  ended  as  his 
letters  to  William  always  did,  whatever  their  subject: 
"  Your  affec.  brother,  Edmund  Eldridge." 

He  read  the  letter  over  again  before  dispatching  it, 
but  did  not  detach  himself  from  the  varying  moods 
in  which  it  had  been  written,  and  when  Mrs.  Eldridge 
asked  him  later  what  he  had  said  to  William,  he  told 
her  that  he  had  just  said  that  it  would  be  a  mistake 
to  enlarge  the  Grange  garden  any  further,  and  had 
written  chiefly  about  another  matter. 

"  You  didn't  say  that  he  mustn't  make  this  enlarge- 
ment, did  you,  dear?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  no.  He  can  go  on  with  that,  as  he  has  begun 
it.  I  must  say  that  I  think  it  will  be  the  best  thing  that 
he  has  done  there.  I  can't  say  that  I  like  to  see  the  pas- 
ture broken  up,  but  there's  been  such  a  lot  of  it  during 
the  war  that  perhaps  it's  not  so  much  of  a  point  as 
it  was.  One  seems  to  have  to  change  one's  views  about 
everything  nowadays.  I  dare  say  I'm  a  bit  old-fash- 
ioned. Got  to  recognize  that  I'm  getting  older,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  Dear  man ! "  she  said  cooingly.  "  You'll  never  be 
old  to  me,  and  you  don't  look  old  either.  Of  the  two 
I  think  you  look  younger  than  William,  though  he  pays 
more  attention  to  his  appearance  than  you  do.  I  hope 
I  don't  look  very  old  myself.  I  don't  really  feel  it. 
Still,  women  have  to  pay  attention  to  their  appearance 
when  they  reach  the  forties.  Otherwise,  people  would 
leave  off  looking  at  them.  Eleanor  doesn't,  much ;  but 
she's  handsome  in  a  different  sort  of  way.  I  should 


78     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

think  she  would  outlast  me;  but  I  shan't  make  a  fuss 
about  it.  I  love  Eleanor;  she's  so  reliable.  I'm  glad 
you  don't  really  mind  their  having  their  extra  garden, 
dear.  It  will  suit  Eleanor  better  than  all  the  tiresome 
pergolas  and  things.  She  will  be  able  to  be  quiet  in  it." 


CHAPTER  VII 

YOUNG    PEOPLE 

THE  day  had  advanced  to  a  heat  unusual  in  our  tem- 
perate climate.  All  nature  seemed  to  be  holding  its 
breath  in  an  endeavour  to  support  it.  There  was  no 
sound  of  bird  life,  and  even  the  insects  had  ceased  their 
stir  of  activity.  After  one  set,  somewhat  languidly 
pursued,  the  tennis  players  betook  themselves  to  the 
seats  disposed  near  at  hand,  in  a  shade  almost  as  torrid 
as  the  sun-steeped  open.  Judith  was  the  only  member 
of  the  party  who  showed  no  manifest  signs  of  being 
overheated.  Her  almost  southern-looking  beauty  was 
enhanced  by  the  heat.  She  laughed  at  the  others,  and 
said  that  it  could  never  be  too  hot  for  her. 

Jim  Horsham  looked  at  her  seriously,  and  said  that 
in  Australia  he  had  experienced  a  heat  of  a  hundred 
and  twenty  degrees,  and  at  Christmas  time,  which  made 
it  all  the  more  remarkable. 

Pamela's  eyes  twinkled,  and  she  roused  herself  from 
an  exhausted  reclining  to  ask:  "Why  does  it  make  it 
all  the  more  remarkable?  " 

"  Well — Christmas  time,  you  know,"  replied  Jim,  in 
the  tone  of  one  humouring  an  intellectually  weaker 
vessel. 

"Yes,  I  see  that,  Jim.  But  aren't  the  seasons  just 
the  other  way  round  in  Australia  ?  " 

79 


80     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  Well,  of  course  they  are.  That's  just  what  I  was 
saying." 

She  laughed,  and  subsided  again.  "  It's  too  hot  to 
argue,"  she  said. 

"  When  were  you  in  Australia  ?  "  asked  Fred  Com- 
frey. 

Horsham  replied  conscientiously,  with  dates  of 
arrival  and  departure,  and  the  further  information  that 
he  had  acted  as  A.  D.  C.  to  an  uncle  who  was  Governor 
of  one  of  the  States. 

"  How  informative  you  are,  Jim  1 "  said  Pamela  laz- 
ily. But  Judith  unexpectedly  showed  interest  in  Aus- 
tralia, and  asked  for  exact  details  of  the  behaviour  of 
the  thermometer  in  that  Dependency,  which  were  given 
to  her. 

"  Oh,  it's  much  too  hot  to  listen  to  all  this,"  said 
Pamela,  springing  up  from  her  low  chair  with  no  ap- 
pearance of  any  essential  lack  of  energy,  in  spite  of  the 
heat.  "  Let's  go  for  a  stroll  in  the  wood." 

This  was  said  to  Fred  Comfrey,  who  responded  with 
alacrity.  His  eyes  had  repeatedly  rested  upon  Pamela, 
across  the  luncheon  table,  where  she  had  talked  and 
laughed  with  the  gay  freedom  that  was  hers  when  she 
was  feeling  what  Norman  would  have  called  good  and 
happy,  and  during  the  game  in  which  her  light  move- 
ments had  been  partnered  with  Horsham's  responsible 
but  slow-moving  efforts,  to  their  ultimate  defeat. 
Horsham  also  looked  at  her  as  she  arose,  as  if  he  would 
like  to  follow  her ;  but  his  explanations  to  Judith  were 
in  full  flood,  and  had  to  be  carried  to  a  conclusion. 
Pamela  and  Fred  moved  off  together,  and  his  eyes  fol- 


YOUNG  PEOPLE  81 

lowed  them  until  they  were  lost  among  the  trees,  though 
there  was  no  faltering  in  his  firm  dealings  with  degrees 
Fahrenheit. 

"  Jim's  a  dear  old  thing,"  said  Pamela,  when  they 
were  out  of  hearing,  "  but  the  idea  sometimes  crosses  my 
mind  that  he's  just  a  little  bit  of  a  bore.  I  hate  to 
think  it  of  him,  so  the  best  thing  is  to  run  away  when 
he  begins  to  show  signs  of  it.  We  needn't  run  very  far. 
There's  a  seat  just  out  of  hearing  of  them." 

It  was  the  seat  in  which  she  and  Norman  had  been 
surprised  by  Fred  and  Hugo  years  before,  from  which 
had  followed  that  quarrel  that  she  had  never  heard 
about.  She  had  even  forgotten  the  disturbance  that 
led  up  to  it,  but  it  was  fresh  enough  in  Fred's  mind, 
and  impelled  him  to  ask  with  some  awkwardness. 
"  What  sort  of  a  fellow  has  Norman  grown  into?  I  did- 
n't see  him  when  he  was  here  last  week." 

TKis  brought  her  to  a  recollection  of  the  hostility 
between  them,  and  she  answered  a  little  stiffly :  "  He's 
just  as  much  of  a  dear  as  ever."  She  had  shared  Nor- 
man's dislike  of  Fred  in  her  childhood.  She  thought 
him  improved,  and  wanted  him  to  have  a  new  chance 
with  all  of  them.  But  she  was  on  Norman's  side — 
always,  if  it  was  a  question  of  taking  sides. 

The  improvement  in  Fred,  from  the  hobbledehoy  of 
twelve  years  be/ore,  would  have  been  remarked  by  any- 
body. He  was  still  stocky  of  build,  but  his  frame  had 
become  smartened,  and  his  stature,  rather  below  the 
average,  only  indicated  its  strength.  The  close-cropped 
moustache  that  he  wore  had  improved  his  appearance, 
and  there  was  a  degree  of  self-confidence  in  his  bearing 


82     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

which  had  not  been  there  of  old,  when  he  had  been  al- 
ternately truculent  and  diffident.  Whether  or  not  he 
had  improved  in  character  was  not  so  plain  to  see,  but 
the  years  had  brought  him  at  least  to  a  better  under- 
standing of  the  face  that  a  man  was  expected  to  show 
before  the  world. 

He  laughed,  a  shade  nervously,  with  his  fingers  at 
his  moustache.  If  Pamela  had  been  looking  at  him  at 
that  moment  she  would  have  seen  him  more  like  he  had 
been  as  a  boy  than  she  had  seen  him  hitherto  in  his  man- 
hood. "  Norman  and  I  had  a  quarrel  about  you  the 
very  last  time  I  saw  him,"  he  said. 

She  did  look  at  him  then,  with  a  hint  of  displeasure 
on  her  face.  Recollection  began  to  come  to  her.  "  Oh, 
yes,"  she  said.  "  It  was  when  you  and  Hugo  found 
us  here  together." 

He  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and  hastened  to 
retrieve  it.  "  I've  always  been  sorry  for  what  happened 
then,"  he  said.  "  I'm  ready  to  tell  Norman  so  when  I 
see  him.  Probably  he  has  remembered  it  against  me. 
We  didn't  always  get  on  very  well  as  boys,  but  I  always 
liked  him,  really — and  admired  him  too,  for  his  pluck." 

The  slight  frown  had  not  yet  left  her  face.  "  What 
did  happen?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  we  fought,"  he  said,  greatly  daring.  "  That's 
what  I  so  much  regret.  I  was  much  bigger  and  stronger 
than  he  was.  It  didn't  last  long,  and  I  don't  think  I 
damaged  him  much,  for  I  don't  believe  you  or  anybody 
knew.  Still,  I  don't  excuse  it  in  any  way.  I  know  I 
was  rather  a  beast,  as  a  boy.  When  one  gees  out  into 
the  world,  and  gets  some  sense  knocked  into  one,  one 


YOUNG  PEOPLE  83 

becomes  ashamed  of  a  good  many  things,  and  some  of 
them  stick  in  one's  mind.  That  did — that  I  fought  a 
younger  smaller  boy,  when  I'd  been  in  the  wrong  from 
the  first.  It's  always  been  a  sort  of  nightmare  to  me." 

He  spoke  quietly,  and  with  apparent  sincerity. 
Pamela  had  a  sense  of  something  underlying  the  quarrel 
of  which  he  spoke  that  she  did  not  want  to  explore, 
brought  by  his  first  words — that  the  quarrel  had  been 
about  her.  But  it  was  possible  to  put  t-hat  aside.  Her 
youthful  generosity  was  touched  by  his  admission.  It 
fitted  in  with  her  dwn  observation  of  him  that  the  man 
and  the  boy  might  be  two  quite  different  creations,  and 
this  fact  seemed  to  have  presented  itself  to  her  out  of 
her  own  knowledge  of  life,  upon  which  she  prided  her- 
self. "  I  think  horrid  little  boys  often  turn  into  quite 
nice  men,"  she  said  with  a  laugh.  "  I  suppose  you  were 
rather  horrid  as  a  boy,  though  I  don't  remember  much 
about  you.  So  was  poor  Hugo,  sometimes,  though  he 
turned  into  a  very  nice  man.  The  war  altered  him  a  lot, 
before  he  was  killed — poor  Hugo!  That's  the  sad 
thing,  I  think — that  so  many  young  men  who  were  really 
made  better  by  what  they  were  doing  in  the  war  were 
killed,  after  all." 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  '*  It  was  a  pretty  hard  school  for 
some  of  us.  But  I  had  had  a  good  deal  of  my  schooling 
beforehand.  I've  always  been  glad  that  I  was  pitched 
out  into  the  world  when  I  was  quite  young.  I  had  to 
fight  for  myself;  and  it  wasn't  fighting  with  boys 
younger  than  myself  then — rather  the  other  way  about. 
I  suppose  that  was  what  made  me  so  ashamed  of  that 
business  with  Norman,  and  kept  it  alive  in  my  mind." 


84     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

She  had  forgiven  him  for  that  now,  as  he  seemed  to 
have  found  it  difficult  to  forgive  himself.  "  I  don't 
think  Norman  has  kept  up  any  feeling  about  it,"  she 
said.  "I  suppose  the  smaller  boy  doesn't,  does  he? 
When  you  were  the  smaller  boy  and  had  to  fight,  I 
suppose  you  rather  enjoyed  it." 

"  Well,  I  did,"  he  said.  "  It  made  a  man  of  me. 
And  it  isn't  over  yet.  I'd  practically  won  my  battle 
over  there,  and  could  go  back  and  rest  on  my  laurels. 
But  I've  a  mind  to  begin  it  all  again  over  here.  There's 
something  exhilarating  in  the  fight  itself;  and  if  I  win 
it  the  rewards  will  be  greater." 

It  sounded  rather  fine  to  her.  She  «lid  not  translate 
the  symbolism  into  the  struggle  of  a  young  man  of  con- 
siderable commercial  astuteness  to  gain  a  footing  for 
himself,  and  when  he  had  done  so  to  seek  the  best  op- 
portunity of  enlarging  it.  He  was  worthy  of  respect, 
in  having  already  made  a  success  of  his  work  at  an  early 
age,  and  having  left  it  to  fight  for  the  great  cause,  in 
which  he  had  also  made  good.  There  was  stuff  in  him,  as 
there  had  been  in  his  boyhood,  when  he  had  done  well  at 
his  school;  and  it  showed  up  now,  to  the  disguising  of 
what  might  have  turned  her  against  him.  She  had  no 
suspicion  that  he  was  rapidly  falling  under  the  spell  of 
her  bright  charm,  for  he  had  learnt  some  wisdom  and 
self-control,  and  knew  that  there  was  a  long  and  difficult 
road  to  travel  before  she  could  be  expected  even  to  see 
him  on  her  level.  He  was  content  now,  after  the  first 
little  mistake,  the  reception  of  which  had  given  him 
warning,  to  arouse  and  keep  alive  her  interest  in  him, 
and  to  establish  terms  of  friendship  with  her,  upon  which 


YOUNG  PEOPLE  85 

there  would  be  no  suspicion  of  his  presuming.  She 
found  it  interesting  to  talk  to  him  already,  and  was  in- 
clined to  back  him  up  with  Norman,  though  not  to  the 
extent  of  turning  herself  into  his  champion.  But  he 
ought  not  to  be  held  to  the  mistakes  of  his  boyhood ;  and 
with  all  his  faults  he  had  been  poor  Hugo's  friend,  and 
had  fought  well  in  the  war  and  been  wounded,  not 
lightly. 

She  asked  him  about  that,  and  he  answered  her  ques- 
tions, modestly  enough,  though  not  without  the  design 
of  attracting  her  sympathy.  And  they  talked  a  little 
about  Hugo.  He  seemed  to  have  seen  more  good  in 
Hugo  than  Norman  had  ever  done,  though  Norman  had 
never  criticized  him  to  her.  But  Norman  had  never 
said,  as  Fred  did,  that  Hugo  was  a  thoroughly  good 
fellow,  who  had  been  a  bit  wild,  like  a  good  many  more, 
but  no  more  than  that;  and  of  course  his  fine  service 
in  the  war  had  wiped  out  those  mistakes  many  times 
over. 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I  feel,"  she  said  gratefully. 
"  There  was  some  trouble  with  Jim.  I  don't  know  what 
it  was,  but  I  know  that  Lord  Crowborough  made  a  fuss 
about  it,  and  Dad  was  very  angry.  So  it  couldn't  have 
been  very  bad.  Besides,  you  can  see  what  Jim  is.  If 
poor  Hugo  is  supposed  to  have  led  him  into  mischief 
he  couldn't  have  led  him  very  far.  Nobody  could  lead 
Jim  very  far  into  mischief.  He  wouldn't  go." 

She  laughed  her  tinkling  laugh,  which  was  delicious 
music  in  Fred's  ears.  He  laughed  too,  but  did  not  make 
the  mistake  of  taking  up  her  criticism  of  Horsham. 
"I  heard  something  about  that  too,"  he  said;  "but  I 


86    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

don't  know  any  details  either.  I  shouldn't  think  there 
could  have  been  much  in  it.  Naturally,  Colonel  Eld- 
ridge  would  have  felt  sore  at  his  being  criticized  at  all." 

Norman  had  always  kept  off  this  subject,  and  would 
answer  no  questions  about  it.  But  he  had  never  ex- 
onerated Hugo,  though  he  had  said  that  Jim  was  ass 
enough  for  anything.  Norman  "was  apt  to  be  over- 
critical.  He  had  nothing  much  to  say  in  favour  of 
Hugo,  her  own  brother,  who  had  been  killed;  he  was 
contemptuous  of  Jim,  who  was  only  rather  slow,  and 
perhaps  dull;  and  he  was  almost  violent  in  his  dislike 
of  Fred,  whom  he  hadn't  seen  for  years.  Of  course  he 
was  head  and  shoulders  above  all  three  of  them  in  every- 
thing that  mattered,  but  perhaps  he  should  have  left  it 
more  to  others  to  recognize  that  fact.  At  any  rate, 
Fred  was  giving  her  something  now  which  Norman  with- 
held from  her,  and  she  was  grateful  for  it. 

Judith,  left  alone  with  Horsham,  showed  no  disposi- 
tion to  regard  herself  in  the  light  of  a  sacrifice.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  really  did  take  an  interest  in  his  statis- 
tics, and  though  she  did  not  talk  much  herself  her  at- 
tention had  the  effect  of  drawing  him  out  to  be  more 
informative  than  ever.  "  I  do  like  to  hear  about  real 
things,"  she  said.  "  Such  a  lot  that  you  read  is  so — 
so  fluffy:  do  you  know  what  I  mean?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  poetry,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I  like  some  poetry ;  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  be 
the  sort  that  people  who  think  they  know  call  good 
poetry."  She  laughed  at  herself,  the  low  musical  laugh 
that  was  all  her  own.  "  Pam  and  Norman  are  always 
making  fun  of  my  tastes." 


YOUNG  PEOPLE  87 

"Does  Pamela  like  poetry?"  Horsham  asked,  with 
a  shade  of  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  and  a  hint  of  mischief  showed 
itself  in  her  eyes.  "  Can  you  repeat  any  by  heart?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  can,  except  the  things  I 
used  to  have  to  learn.  I've  never  forgotten  them.  It 
seems  as  if  I  can't  forget  anything  that  I've  once  learnt. 
I  could  repeat  '  The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,'  which  I 
learnt  when  I  was  five  or  six,  I  should  think — you  know, 
about  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter  to  bear 
him  company — I  should  think  I  could  repeat  that  now, 
without  a  mistake." 

The  dark  eyes  were  dancing  with  mischief  now.  "  Oh, 
yes,  I  know  it,"  she  said.  "  It's  lovely.  And  funnily 
enough  it's  one  of  Pamela's  favourite  poems,  and  Nor- 
man's too." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  said  Horsham  doubtfully.  "  I  didn't  really 
think  much  of  it  myself ;  it  was  only  that  I  did  learn  it 
once  and  couldn't  forget  it.  Still,  of  course  it  is  by 
Longfellow." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I  like  Longfellow  myself.  Pam  and 
Norman  pretend  they  don't.  But  Pam  loves  that  par- 
ticular poem.  If  you'd  say  it  over  to  her — !  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  should  care  about  doing 
that.  I  expect  she  knows  so  much  more  poetry  than 
I  do." 

"  You  could  get  her  to  talk  about  poetry  and  then 
just  bring  it  out  casually.  Say  you  think  it's  so  salient 
— that's  the  way  she  and  Norman  talk — and  then  say 
it  over.  I  think  she'd  be  pleased  at  finding  you  liked 
something  that  she  did." 


88    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  might  do  that.  What  word  did 
you  say — salient?  " 

"  Yes,  or  basic.  That's  another  word  they  use  a 
good  deal.  Perhaps  you  might  bring  them  both  in." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  pretend  to  be  learned  in  that  sort  of 
way.  And  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  don't  really  care  much 
for  poetry  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I'm  like  you:  I 
like  facts." 

Judith,  having  laid  her  train,  returned  to  serious  con- 
versation. "  I  don't  know  why  one  should  be  ashamed 
of  it,"  she  said.  "  But  I  do  keep  my  actual  tastes 
rather  dark  before  Pam.  Of  course  she's  much  cleverer 
than  I  am,  and  I  don't  mind  her  poking  fun  at  me  a 
bit;  in  fact  I  rather  enjoy  it.  But  you're  the  first 
person  I've  ever  confessed  to  that  I  really  like  dates  and 
things  of  that  sort.  I  find  them — refreshing.  Do  you 
feel  that  too?" 

Horsham's  face  lit  up.  It  seemed  that  he  did,  and 
that  he  had  never  forgotten  those  of  the  Kings  and 
Queens  of  England,  which  he  had  also  learnt  in  child- 
hood. They  recited  them  together,  with  mutual 
pleasure,  in  a  sort  of  measured  chant,  and  laughed 
heartily  when  they  had  done  so. 

"  Of  course,  that  capacity,  which  we  both  seem  to 
have,  is  going  to  be  very  useful  to  me  in  my  career," 
Horsham  said.  "  If  you  can  get  facts  at  your  fingers' 
ends,  and  keep  them  there — " 

"  What  career  do  you  mean?  "  inquired  Judith.  "  I 
didn't  know  you'd  got  one." 

"  Oh,  yes.  Don't  tell  anybody,  because  it  isn't  quite 
settled  yet,  but  I'm  going  to  be  Private  Secretary  to — 


YOUNG  PEOPLE  89 

unpaid,  of  course — to — well,  perhaps  I'd  better  not 
mention  his  name,  even  to  you;  but  he's  a  Cabinet 
Minister.  Perhaps  I  shall  try  to  get  into  Parliament 
by  and  by." 

"You  can't,  if  you're  a  lord,  can  you?  " 

He  explained  that  difficulty  away  for  her  for  ever, 
so  exhaustively  did  he  handle  it.  He  was  going  to  take 
politics  seriously.  He  thought  it  his  duty ;  but  it  would 
also  be  his  pleasure.  "  I've  played  the  fool  a  bit,"  he 
confessed ;  "  but  that's  all  over  now.  I  was  young, 
and—" 

He  broke  off  in  some  confusion.  He  had  suddenly 
remembered  Hugo,  and  didn't  know  how  much  she  knew 
of  the  disturbance  of  three  years  before. 

She  knew  no  more  than  Pamela,  which  was  scarcely 
anything;  but  they  had  discussed  it  together.  "You 
and  Hugo  played  the  fool  together,  didn't  you?  "  she 
asked,  with  a  slight  frown. 

He  was  rather  taken  aback  by  her  directness,  but  he 
spoke  as  directly,  after  a  short  pause  of  reflection. 
"  Hugo  was  blamed  for  what  was  just  as  much  my  fault 
as  his,"  he  said  stoutly.  "  He  was  older  than  me — that 
was  all.  It's  all  over  long  ago — poor  fellow ! — and  we 
don't  want  to  think  about  it  any  more." 

"  I'm  glad  you've  said  it  like  that,"  she  said  with  a 
glance  of  approval  at  him.  "  So  will  Pamela  be.  I 
shall  tell  her.  But  don't  you  say  anything  to  her 
about  it." 

"  You  don't  think—?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  What  you've  said  is  quite  enough, 
and  we  don't  want  to  talk  about  it  any  more  at  all. 


Let's  go  and  find  Pamela,  and  Fred.  We  might  have 
another  game  before  tea." 

Horsham  was  quite  willing  te  go  and  find  Pamela, 
though  he  had  unexpectedly  enjoyed  his  chat  with  Ju- 
dith, who  struck  him  as  a  girl  of  quite  remarkable  in- 
telligence. He  told  her  so,  as  they  walked  together. 
"  Of  course  you  were  only  a  kid  when  I  was  here  last," 
he  said,  making  allowances  for  her,  and  for  himself. 

"  Yes,"  said  Judith.  "  And  you  weren't  much  to 
write  home  about,  either." 

He  looked  surprised  at  this  speech,  until  she  laughed, 
when  he  laughed  too.  "  You  and  Pamela  both  like 
chaffing  a  fellow,  don't  you?"  he  said.  "I  suppose 
some  fellows  wouldn't  see  it,  and  be  offended.  But  I'm 
rather  quick  at  seeing  things,  and  I  don't  mind." 

Judith  suddenly  felt  an  immense  liking  for  him,  com- 
pounded in  a  curious  way  of  respect  and  tenderness. 
He  was  a  heavily  built  young  man,  though  his  figure 
was  upright,  and  had  the  activity  of  his  youth.  His 
face  was  neither  handsome  nor  ugly,  but  there  was  a 
look  of  honesty  and  simplicity  in  it  that  gave  it  char- 
acter. She  felt  a  strong  compunetion  at  having  pre- 
pared a  trap  for  him.  "  I  was  chaffing  you  when  I 
advised  you  to  recite  poetry  to  Pamela,"  she  said 
hurriedly.  "  Don't  you.  At  least,  don't  recite  *  The 
Wreck  of  the  Hesperus.*  She'd  think  that  tosh;  and 
so  do  I." 

This  disturbed  him  for  a  moment,  but  he  soon  re- 
covered. "  I  was  an  ass  not  to  see  what  you  were 
driving  at,"  he  said.  "  But  you  must  remember  that  / 
never  said  I  thought  that  was  a  fine  poem." 


YOUNG  PEOPLE  91 

"  No,  you  didn't,"  she  said  soothingly.  "  And  I 
don't  suppose  either  of  us  really  care  much  for  what 
they  would  call  fine  poetry.  What  I  do  like  of  Long- 
fellow's is  his  '  Psalm  of  Life  '." 

"  Do  you  mean  that?  "  he  asked;  and  when  she  said 
she  did  he  repeated  slowly  and  impressively,  as  they 
walked  beneath  the  trees : 

"  *  Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest, 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal. 
Dust   thou   art,  to  dust   returnest, 
Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul.' 

"  Ah,  yes.  That's  poetry.  I  don't  envy  people  who 
can't  see  the  beauty  of  that." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WEIiLSBURY 

SIR  WILLIAM  and  Lady  Eldridge  were  spending  the 
week-end  at  a  great  country  house,  the  seat  of  a  Cab- 
inet Minister  with  whom  Sir  William  had  worked  ardu- 
ously during  the  war,  to  the  undoubted  advantage  of 
the  Department  of  which  Lord  Chippenham  had  been 
the  head,  and  also  to  the  advantage  of  the  British  tax- 
payer. For  this  Department — or  at  least  that  part  of 
its  work  for  which  Sir  William  had  been  responsible — 
had  escaped  those  accusations  of  waste  an<fl  extrava- 
gance which  were  so  freely  and  so  regrettably  made. 
The  work  had  been  done  quietly,  resourcefully  and 
economically,  and  there  were  few  who  knew  anything 
about  its  details.  In  fact,  but  for  the  large  number 
of  people  who  were  rewarded  for  services  during  the 
war  of  whom  nobody  had  ever  heard  before  their  names 
appeared  in  the  Honours  List,  Sir  William's  knight- 
hood might  have  aroused  speculation.  He  had  de- 
served it,  at  least  as  well  as  most,  but  it  was  not  gen- 
erally known  what  he  had  done,  and  there  were  to  be 
found  here  and  there  those  who  thought  that  he  had 
made  money  out  of  the  war,  and  that  his  knighthood 
had  eventuated  in  some  way  out  of  the  money  he  had 
made.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  done  five  years' 
hard  work  for  nothing,  and  would  have  been  richer 
than  he  was  if  he  had  confined  his  energies  to  his  own 

92 


WELLSBURY  93 

affairs.  But  that  never  troubled  him.  He  was  rich 
enough  for  all  ordinary  purposes  as  it  was,  even  with 
the  ruinous  taxation  to  which  his  income  was  sub- 
jected; and  now  that  his  public  work  had  been  wound 
up,  and  he  was  free  again  to  work  for  himself,  he  was 
likely  to  become  richer  still. 

There  had  been  two  flies  in  the  ointment  of  his  public 
success.  One  was  that  a  K.  B.  E.  was  hardly  a  suffi- 
cient reward  for  his  valuable  services.  He  knew  how 
valuable  they  had  been,  and  that  others  who  had  done 
work  that  could  not  be  compared  with  his  had  won 
regards  far  higher.  He  had  asked  for  nothing,  and 
had  not  breathed  to  a  soul  except  his  wife  the  disap- 
pointment he  had  felt  at  the  closing  of  the  chapter. 
Perhaps  if  he  had  advertised  himself  more —  But  reflec- 
tion always  brought  him  the  gratifying  sense  of  having 
done  his  work  not  for  the  sake  of  reward,  and  he  was 
too  active  and  eager  in  pursuing  the  aims  to  which  he 
had  now  returned  to  dwell  upon  the  disappointment. 
At  the  same  time  his  chief  had  also  known  the  value 
of  his  work,  and  might,  if  he  had  exerted  himself,  have 
influenced  a  higher  recognition  of  it. 

The  other  source  of  dissatisfaction  was  a  much 
smaller  affair.  In  fact  he  was  rather  ashamed  of  allow- 
ing it  entrance  to  his  mind,  and  had  never  mentioned  it 
to  his  wife. 

Lord  Chippenham  was  an  eminent  public  servant. 
He  was  also — or  rather  Lady  Chippenham  was — an 
eminent  personality  in  the  social  world.  Sir  William 
had  worked  with  him  over  years,  but  had  never  become 
intimate  with  him.  He  had  dined  once  or  twice  with 


94     THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

him  in  London;  but  in  those  strenuous  times  of 
the  war  that  meant  nothing,  and  since  the  war,  when 
social  entertainments  were  beginning  to  take  their 
normal  course,  he  had  not  even  done  that.  Indeed, 
Lord  Chippenham  seemed  to  have  forgotten  him 
altogether,  and  he  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  sore 
about  it. 

But  then  at  last  had  come  the  invitation  to  Wells- 
bury,  the  famous  Elizabethan  house  where  it  had  been 
Lady  Chippenham's  pleasure  to  gather  together  parties 
of  all  that  was  most  brilliant  in  the  world,  not  only 
of  fashion  but  of  art  and  letters  and  whatever  else 
could  add  variety  and  interest  to  her  parties.  The  in- 
vitation gave  him  great  pleasure,  which  he  could  not 
keep  from  his  wife,  who  took  it  calmly  eneugh.  There 
were  plenty  of  what  are  called  "  good  houses  "  open  to 
them,  and  if  it  had  been  their  ambition  to  climb  into 
the  social  prominence  that  is  represented  by  mixing 
always  with  those  who  keep  in  the  busy  swim,  there 
would  have  been  no  difficulty  about  it.  That  was  no 
more  of  an  end  to  him  than  it  was  to  her;  but  Wells- 
bury  was  different.  The  climbers  were  not  asked  there ; 
or  if  they  were,  their  climbing  ambitions  were  not  the 
qualities  most  apparent  in  them.  Also,  you  went  to 
Wellsbury  to  enjoy  yourself. 

Sir  William  enjoyed  himself  exceedingly.  So  did 
Lady  Eldridge,  who  found  people  among  the  numerous 
guests  whom  she  liked  arid  who  liked  her.  They  were 
not  all  strangers  either.  The  Eldridges  had  a  large 
circle  of  acquaintance  in  London,  which  touched  other 
circles,  and  was  always  enlarging  itself.  There 


WELLSBURY  95 

were  people  at  Wellsbury  during  that  week-end  who 
knew  less  of  the  world  gathered  there  than  they 
did. 

At  least  half  the  guests  bore  names  that  were  well 
known,  and  some  were  of  real  eminence.  And  there 
were  many  young  people,  who  made  themselves  merry, 
and  were  encouraged  to  do  so,  not  only  by  their  hostess, 
who  was  merry  and  high-spirited  herself,  but  by  the 
venerated  Minister  of  State,  who  listened  with  a  twin- 
kling eye  to  the  hubbub  of  talk  and  laughter  that  arose 
around  him,  and  sometimes  contributed  to  it.  He  spent 
much  of  his  time  durnig  the  day  with  the  children  who 
were  collected  there  with  the  rest,  and  had  a  grandchild 
seated  on  either  side  of  him  at  lunch  on  Sunday.  He 
was  a  very  charming  benign  old  gentleman  in  his  own 
lovely  home ;  the  word  "  harmless "  might  perhaps 
have  been  used  to  describe  him  as  he  showed  him- 
self there,  and  William  Eldridge  gained  some  amuse- 
ment from  the  recollection  of  episodes  in  his  official 
hours,  when  that  epithet  would  not  have  seemed 
suitable. 

It  did  occur  to  Sir  William  once  or  twice  during 
those  lovely  summer  days  to  ask  himself  whether  he 
had  been  invited  to  Wellsbury  with  any  particular 
object.  He  and  his  wife  had  been  received  there  almost 
as  if  they  were  habitues  of  the  house;  and  yet  it  was 
over  a  year  since  he  had  had  word  with  Lord  Chip- 
penham  at  all,  and  this  private  recognition  of  him  was 
at  least  tardy.  But  there  was  so  much  to  see  and  to  do, 
in  the  great  house,  full  of  its  wonderful  treasures,  and 
full,  too,  of  agreeable  and  interesting  people,  that  he 


96    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

gave  himself  up  to  the  flow  of  it  all,  and  put  aside 
the  idea  of  anything  to  come  of  the  visit  except  the 
pleasure  of  the  visit  itself. 

Rain  came  on  late  on  Sunday  morning,  and  though 
it  was  not  enough  to  keep  everybody  indoors  and  never 
looked  like  continuing,  Sir  William  took  the  opportu- 
nity of  writing  a  few  letters  after  luncheon.  There 
was  a  little  panelled  room  off  the  billiard-room,  which 
he  had  seen  the  evening  before,  with  just  one  lovely 
early  Dutch  picture  in  it,  and  he  went  there  rather 
than  to  his  own  room  upstairs,  partly  bcause  he  wanted 
to  look  at  the  picture  again,  partly  because  of  the 
satisfaction  of  making  use  of  as  many  rooms  as  possi- 
ble in  this  beautiful  ancient  house,  in  which  for  two 
days  he  was  at  home. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  billiard-room,  or  in  the 
inner  room,  which  was  open  to  it,  but  also  in  part  con- 
cealed. He  had  been  there  for  some  little  time  when 
two  young  men  came  into  the  billiard-room  and  began 
to  play.  He  recognized  them  by  their  voices  as  Nigel 
Byrne,  Lord  Chippenham's  private  secretary,  and 
William  Despencer,  the  youngest  son  of  the  house.  He 
went  on  writing,  being  now  immersed  in  what  he  was 
doing,  as  his  habit  was,  and  paid  no  further  attention 
to  them.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  they  would  not 
know  that  anybody  was  in  the  inner  room;  he  did  not 
think  about  it  at  all,  concentrated  as  his  mind  was  on 
his  writing.  The  click  of  the  balls  and  the  voices  of 
the  young  men,  who  were  playing  in  desultory  fashion 
and  talking  all  the  time,  came  to  him  as  an  accompani- 
ment to  his  thoughts,  but  with  no  more  meaning  than 


WELLSBURY  97 

the  noises  of  traffic  would  have  had  if  he  had  been  writ- 
ing in  a  room  in  London. 

But  presently,  as  he  leant  back  in  his  chair  to  con- 
sider something,  a  phrase  struck  upon  his  ear,  and  he 
woke  up  to  the  disagreeable  fact  that  they  were  talking 
about  him,  and  for  all  he  knew  might  have  been  talking 
about  him  for  the  last  ten  minutes. 

"  The  Chief  thinks  a  lot  of  him.  He  did  extraordi- 
narily good  work  in  the  war." 

"  I  know  he  did.  These  big  business  men  did  make 
themselves  useful — some  of  them.  Did  pretty  well  out 
of  it  too." 

"  Eldridge  didn't." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Sir  William  woke  up  to  their 
speech,  but  what  had  come  immediately  before  his 
name  was  mentioned,  which  his  ears  had  taken  in  with- 
out conveying  it  to  his  brain,  also  turned  itself  into 
meaning. 

"  Perhaps  not ;  though  you  never  know.  Anyhow, 
he's  a  new  man,  and  I  think  we've  saddled  ourselves 
with  quite  enough  of  them.  I  think  we  ought  to  get 
back  to  the  old  sort — the  men  who  come  of  good  stock. 
They've  always  been  the  backbone  of  our  party,  and — " 

The  speaker  was  surprised  by  the  appearance  of  the 
man  he  had  been  criticizing.  Sir  William  stood  in  the 
arched  recess  at  the  end  of  the  room,  his  pen  in  his 
hand,  and  a  smile  upon  his  face. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  he  said.  "  I've  been  writing  in 
there,  and  have  only  just  realized  that  you  were  talk- 
ing about  me." 

The  young  men  stared  at  him  in  consternation,  and 


98    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

he  spoke  again,  with  the  air  of  one  who  meant  to  dom- 
inate the  situation.  That  was  exactly  what  he  did 
mean.  A  sudden  crisis  always  strung  him  up  to  the 
most  effective  control  of  his  powers,  and  he  had  formed 
his  decision  in  the  few  seconds  that  had  elapsed  between 
the  mention  of  his  name  and  his  standing  before  them. 

"  I  really  haven't  been  listening,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
too  busy  with  what  I  was  doing,  or  I'd  have  stopped 
you  befere.  But  I'm  not  exactly  a  new  man,  you  know. 
You  can  look  me  up  in  a  book,  if  you  like.  Eldridge 
of  Hayslope,  in  Downshire.  And  I  give  you  my  word 
I  haven't  made  a  bob  out  of  the  war."  Then  he  turned 
to  go  back  to  his  writing. 

Wi-lliam  Despencer  had  been  collecting  himself  dur- 
ing this  speech.  He  was  a  young  man  of  a  serious  cast 
of  mind,  conspicuously  honest  and  straightforward, 
though  of  an  outlook  not  of  the  widest.  "  I'm  sorry 
you  overheard  what  we  were  saying,"  he  said.  "  And 
I  apologize  for  the  mistake  I  seem  to  have  made.  I'm 
glad  you  corrected  me." 

Sir  William  turned  to  him  again,  but  Nigel  Byrne 
broke  in  before  he  could  speak.  "  You  heard  me  de- 
fend you,"  he  said  with  a  pleasant  smile,  which,  with 
his  attractive  appearance  and  ready  speech  was  part  of 
his  qualification  for  the  position  he  so  admirably  filled. 
"William  was  talking  generally,  and  I  happened  to 
know  that  you  weren't  of  the  type.  You'd  have  heard 
me  say  so  when  he  came  to  the  end  of  his  speech ;  but 
he's  always  teo  long-winded." 

"  Oh,  I  doa't  mind  that  a  bit,"  said  Sir  William. 
"  I've  been  doing  the  things  that  the  new  men  do — and 


WELLSBURY  99 

some  of  the  old  ones  too — for  some  years  past.  It  was 
a  natural  mistake.  I'm  only  sorry  I  let  you  in  for  it  by 
keeping  quiet  in  here.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  wasn't 
thinking  of  you.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  apologize  for 
that.  Anyhow,  please  forget  it." 

"  We  will,"  said  Byrne.  "  No  offence  meant  and 
none  taken,  eh?  I  was  coming  to  look  for  you  after 
William  and  I  had  had  our  little  game.  The  Chief  wants 
you  to  go  for  a  stroll  with  him  at  half-past  three,  if 
it  clears  up,  and  if  not,  will  you  go  and  have  a  chat 
with  him  in  his  room?  I'll  take  you  to  him." 

The  invitation  was  so  significant  that  it  put  out  of 
Sir  William's  mind  the  awkwardness  of  the  late  occur- 
rence, as  he  waited  for  the  time  when  the  great  man 
should  be  ready  for  him.  Perhaps  it  was  only  a  mark 
of  politeness  to  a  guest,  and  there  would  be  talk  about 
this  and  that,  but  about  nothing  that  would  matter 
much  to  him.  The  work  that  they  had  been  engaged 
upon  together  was  over,  and  Lord  Chippenham  was  not 
likely  to  want  to  go  back  to  that.  What  could  he  want 
to  see  him  about  then?  He  hardly  permitted  himself  to 
conjecture;  but  there  was  a  sense  of  excitement  hang- 
ing ever  him,  and  he  looked  many  times  at  his  watch  as 
he  went  here  and  there  in  the  house  and  examined  the 
pictures  and  the  ether  treasures  of  it,  with  apprecia- 
tion, but  not  with  all  his  attention. 

When  he  had  left  the  billiard-room  the  two  young 
men  looked  at  one  another  and  Nigel  Byrne  laughed. 
"  He  took  it  very  well,  I  think,"  he  said.  "  Quite  a 
nice  fellow !  " 

William  Despencer  kept  a  grave  face.     "  I  wish  I'd 


100         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

known  he  was  there,"  he  said.  "Why  didn't  he  let  us 
know  he  was  there  when  we  came  in  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  he  was  eavesdropping.  I  say,  lets 
look  him  up.  I'm  bound  to  say  I  never  thought  of  him 
as  anything  but  the  usual  rich  city  fellow,  with  no 
father  to  speak  of." 

"  Like  Melchizedek.  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
defend  him  against  my  aspersions,  if  he'd  given  you 
time." 

"  That  was  my  famous  tact,  William.  Eldridge  of 
what,  did  he  say?  Ah,  here  it  is." 

There  were  current  books  of  reference  on  a  table 
in  the  billiard-room,  and  Byrne  had  opened  one  which 
dealt  faithfully  with  the  County  Families  and  their 
genealogies. 

"  Oh,  quite  respectable ! "  he  said,  as  they  read  the 
entry  together.  "He's  next  man  in,  too,  do  you  see? 
Present  man's  only  son  killed  in  the  war.  He  was  at 
Harrow  and  Cambridge.  We've  done  him  an  injustice, 
William.  If  at  any  time  he  likes  to  make  a  little  con- 
tribution to  party  funds,  and  somebody  or  other  rec- 
ommends him  for  a  peerage,  he  won't  have  to  be- 
gin everything  from  the  beginning  like  so  many  of 
them." 

"  Is  that  the  idea?  " 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  say  that.  Peerages  aren't  bought 
and  sold  in  the  market,  you  know,  William.  You  ought 
to  know  better  than  that." 

"  Well,  I  still  think  the  mistake  was  a  natural  one," 
said  William  Despencer,  turning  away.  "  He's  too 
elaborate  altogether.  Those  clothes !  Just  what  a  rich 


WELLSBURY  101 

city  fellow  would  wear  who'd  just  discovered  Saville 
Row." 

"  They're  no  better  than  mine.  He's  a  good-looking 
fellow  and  likes  to  keep  his  youth.  The  Chief  thinks  a 
lot  of  him,  you  know.  He'd  like  to  work  with  him  too, 
if  he  was  in  Parliament." 

"  His  wife's  a  nice  woman.  I  shall  talk  to  her  this 
evening.  I'm  sorry  he  heard  me  say  what  I  did." 

The  sun  had  come  out  by  the  time  Lord  Chippenham 
was  ready  for  his  afternoon  walk.  Sir  William's  ex- 
pectations of  a  serious  talk  were  a  little  dashed  when 
he  discovered  that  it  was  to  be  taken  in  the  company 
of  two  little  granddaughters  and  two  little  dogs,  and 
as  they  went  down  through  the  gardens  and  across  the 
park  it  seemed  as  if  Lord  Chippenham's  attention  would 
be  chiefly  taken  up  by  the  four  of  them.  However, 
no  other  grown-up  person  had  been  invited  to  join  the 
party,  and  presently  the  children  and  the  dogs  detached 
themselves,  and  only  returned  to  their  base  now  and 
then,  when  Lord  Chippenham  broke  off  in  whatever  he 
might  have  been  saying  and  talked  to  them  until  they 
were  off  again. 

When  the  walk  was  over,  and  Sir  William  tried  to 
give  some  concise  account  of  what  had  happened  to  his 
wife,  he  found  it  difficult  to  put  any  particular  point 
to  it.  Lord  Chippenham  seemed  to  want  him  in  some 
undefined  way,  but  had  made  no  actual  proposal.  He 
ought  to  be  in  Parliament — perhaps  as  a  preliminary  to 
— to  office?  It  almost  seemed  as  if  that  were  indicated ; 
but  it  was  all  so  vague,  and  the  children  were  always 
interrupting  at  the  most  critical  moments.  At  one  time 


102         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

it  almost  seemed  as  if  he  were  hinting  that  a  seat  in  the 
House  of  Lords  would  be  the  simplest  way  to — to  what? 
Really,  it  was  impossible  to  say.  The  only  definite 
thing  that  could  be  taken  hold  of  was  that  when  they 
had  come  in,  Lord  Chippenham,  turning  to  go  into  his 
room,  had  said :  "  Well,  I  think  we  could  do  good  work 
together  again,  and  I  hope  we  shall." 

The  i's  seemed  t®  be  dotted  to  some  extent  later  on 
in  the  day  by  Nigel  Byrne,  who  made  himself  agreeable 
to  Lady  Eldridge,  and  told  her  that  the  Chief  thought 
a  lot  of  her  husband.  "  Of  course  he  ought  to  be  in 
Parliament,"  he  said.  "  Has  he  ever  thought  about  it, 
do  you  know  ?  " 

Eleanor  thought  that  was  intended  as  a  preliminary 
to  anything  that  might  be  preparing,  though  why 
Lord  Chippenham  or  Mr.  Byrne  couldn't  say  so  out- 
right she  couldn't  think.  And  why  had  the  constitu- 
ency of  West  Loamshire  been  mentioned  as  a  likely 
one,  to  her  and  not  to  William?  Politics  seemed  to 
be  a  curiously  mysterious  game.  Still,  We.st  Loam- 
shire,  where  there  was  likely  to  be  a  vacancy  shortly 
— though  this  was  not  to  be  repeated — had  been  men- 
tioned ;  and,  "  I  suppose  your  husband  knows  George 
Weldon — the  Whip,  you  know,"  had  been  one  of  the 
things  said  that  she  had  to  report.  She  supposed  they 
were  meant  to  put  two  and  two  together.  Probably, 
if  William  went  to  see  George  Weldon,  he  would  get  on 
to  a  more  direct  path  altogether. 

They  talked  it  all  over,  motoring  back  to  London 
the  next  morning.  William  had  sometimes  considered 
a  parliamentary  career,  but  not  very  seriously.  He 


WELLSBURY  103 

had  been  too  busy  with  his  affairs  to  take  a  great  deal 
of  interest  in  politics  except  where  they  touched  his 
interests.  It  would  be  beginning  something  all  over 
again,  and  the  preliminary  steps  to  candidature  and 
election  would  take  up  a  lot  of  time  and  money.  But 
it  would  be  different  if  the  preliminaries  were  made 
easy  for  him,  and  there  was  something  waiting  for  him 
that  other  men  had  to  work  up  to  through  years.  He 
was  confident  of  being  able  to  fill  any  position  that 
might  come  to  him,  and  had  enough  patriotism  to  make 
the  prospect  of  doing  something  for  his  country  that 
he  could  do  better  than  other  people  attractive  to  him. 

Eleanor  would  encourage  him  too.  She  was  quite 
as  interested  in  the  possibilities  they  discussed  together 
as  he  was.  He  knew  that  she  was  not  particularly 
interested  in  his  financial  career.  It  had  already 
brought  them  to  the  point  where  they  had  everything 
they  wanted  that  money  would  give  them,  and  that  was 
all  that  business  meant  to  her.  What  was  the  good 
of  going  on  for  the  rest  of  your  life  just  making  more 
money?  But  she  had  liked  him  to  tell  her  about  the 
work  he  had  been  doing  during  the  war,  and  it  would 
be  the  same  if  he  took  up  public  work  again. 

They  fell  silent  for  a  time,  after  they  had  talked 
it  all  over,  and  the  big  car  carried  them  easily  and 
swiftly  along  the  country  roads.  Wellsbury  was  a  two 
hours'  run  from  London  by  the  most  direct  route,  but 
they  were  making  it  rather  longer,  so  as  to  see  more 
of  the  country  and  to  avoid  the  straight  high  roads. 

Sir  William  never  failed  to  enjoy  a  ride  in  this  fine 
car  of  his,  which  he  had  recently  acquired,  at  immense 


104         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

expense.  He  did  thoroughly  enjoy  all  the  things  that 
his  money  bought  him,  and  liked  spending  it  on  them; 
and  the  point  of  satiety  which  lies  somewhere  ahead 
on  that  road  was  not  yet  in  eight  with  him.  He  enjoyed 
the  luxurious  upholstery  of  his  new  car;  and  even  the 
well-clothed  back  of  his  chauffeur,  with  the  discreet 
figure  of  Eleanor's  maid  beside  it,  gave  him  satisfac- 
tion, as  adding  to  the  conveniences  of  his  life  and  hers. 
He  liked  to  feel  well  dressed  too,  and  that  Eleanor 
should  also  be  so;  and  that  she  should  be  the  kind  of 
woman  who  carried  off  beautiful  and  expensive  clothes. 
He  thought  that  she  looked  the  equal  of  any  of  the 
women  who  had  been  at  Wellsbury,  and  he  was  proud 
of  her,  and  of  the  notice  that  had  been  taken  of  her. 

Whatever  might  be  the  result  of  this  visit,  or  if  there 
should  be  no  result  of  it,  it  stood  as  a  source  of  com- 
pleted gratification  in  itself.  It  seemed  to  have  put 
the  seal  of  success  upon  his  career,  and  to  have  set  him 
where  he  rightly  belonged.  It  was  not  the  sort  of  rec- 
ognition that  could  have  been  gained  by  the  possession 
of  money,  though  in  his  case  success  in  money-making 
had  indirectly  led  up  to  it.  His  reflections  were  crossed 
by  a  momentary  shadew  at  the  remembrance  of  the  mis- 
take those  two  young  men — or  at  least  one  of  them — 
had  made  about  him  yesterday.  Surely  Lord  Chip- 
penham's  son  might  have  known  that  a  merely  new  rich 
man  would  not  have  been  made  welcome  at  Wellsbury 
as  he  had  been.  There  had  been  no  one  remotely  re- 
sembling that  breed  among  the  guests  of  this  party. 
Still,  he  had  put  that  right,  and  it  didn't  really  matter. 
He  was  perhaps  aware  in  the  background  of  his  mind 


WELLSBURY  105 

that  exuberance  was  a  note  to  be  watchful  of;  his  up- 
bringing and  the  standards  it  had  inculcated  had  made 
him  careful  to  prune  himself.  He  would  not  have  been 
so  careful  if  Criticism i'frCm  time  to  time  had  not  shown 
him  the  nec.essity>  Edmund,  t2  whom  as  a  Joung  man 
he  had  locked  up  as  the  pattern  of  <luiet»  self-possessed 
good  breeding>  had  criticized  him  on  those  grounds.  He 
had  Clever  quite  lost  the  feeling  tPat  Edmund  was  a 
finer-  type  of  gentleman  than  hin)self— until  latelJ> 
when  his  own  brilliant  gifts  had  brought  him  into  such 
prominence  as  Edmund  would  never  at£ain  to.  Now  he 
was  a  little  impatient  of  that  old  fe'eling  of  slignt 
inferiority  to  his  brother,  and  whatever  na"  survived 
of  it  seemed  to  have  been  wiped  out  1}J  this  visit  to 
Wellsbury.  Edmund  would  never  have  been  invited 
to  such  a  house  unless  it  had  happened  td  "e  m  nis  l°cal 
zone  of  dignity  as  a  landowner. 

Sir  William  considered,  in  the  glow  of  nis  satisfac- 
tion, as  he  was  carried  along  between  the  hedgerows 
and  the  fv,i]-blossomed  trees,  the  stn^  from  which  he 
had  sprung  and  the  altitudes  to  which  he  had  arisen, 
which  wanted  some  adjustment  if  he  were  to  be  proud 
of  both,  as  his  inclination  was. 

A  family  that  went  back  two  or  three  hundred  years, 
and  for  most  of  the  time  as  landowners  in  the  same 
county,  was  something  that  only  a  small  minority 
could  claim.  Yet  the  Eldridges  ha,d  never  really  done 
anything  that  put  them  above  the  ruck  of  country 
squires.  They  had  intermapried  here  and  there  with 
families  of  higher  standing;  they  had  kept  their  heads 
up  in  the  world,  and  were  in  all  the  County  Histories — 


106         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

as  names,  but  little  more.  Their  dignity  had  hardly 
extended  beyond  the  head  of  the  family  for  the  time 
being.  The  younger  sons  were  scarcely  better  off  in 
that  respect  than  the  sons  «jf  ether  mei?'  w^°  c°uld 
give  them  the  right  sort  of  education  and  st£rt  in  ,life- 
He  himself  had  begu^  life  with  no  greater  ad^n^g68 
than  his  contemporaries  at  school  and  university-  of 
birth  net  so  good  a^  his>  and  if  he  had  not  brought  his 
own  exceptional  gitts  Into  play  he  wouid  have  had  just 
the  position  that  his  success  at  the  Bar  might  haV'6 
brought  him,  a%d  no  higher.  Of  course  the  altered^ 
circumstances  DrOught  about  by  the  death  of  his 
brother  s  heir  vould  have  made  a  great  difference  to 
him,  at  least  in  prospect ;  but  that  loomed  small  now. 
But  foi;  the  sbntimental  attachment  which  he  felt 
towards  the  home  Of  j-,js  fathers,  he  would  not  have 
cared  much  now  to  be  Squire  of  Hayslope.  It  would 
not  now  be  his  chief  claim  to  consideration,  and  if  he 
had  wished  he  fcould  have  bought  himself  a  finer 
than  Hayslopo  tt»<3  a  1arger  property.  Stflk 
did  mean  a  good  deal  to  him,  ana  he  was  inclined  to 
congratulate  himself  upon  being  content  with  the 
ealarged  Hayslope  Grange  as  his  country  house,  and 
the  consequent  playing  second  fiddle  to  his  brother, 
when  he  could  so  easily  have  been  first  somewhere  else. 

He  speke  some  of  the  thoughts  which  were  running 
through  his  mind  when  he  broke  the  silence  to  say  to 
his  wife :  "  I'm  afraid  poor  old  Edmund  is  having  a 
thin  time  at  Hayslope.  Hard  luck  that  the  owner  of  a 
property  like  that  should  be  pinched,  as  most  of  them 
are  in  these  days,  and  we  who  used  to  think  ourselves 


WELLSBURY  107 

so  much  less  fortunate  should  have  got  quite  past 
them!" 

She  thought  it  nice  of  him  to  be  thinking  about  his 
brother's  difficulties  at  this  time.  She  knew  that  he  was 
exalted  by  the  visit  to  Wellsbury,  and  the  expectation 
of  something  to  come  out  of  it.  He  might  have  been 
thought  to  be  full  of  his  own  affairs. 

"  I've  had  them  a  good  deal  on  my  mind,"  she  said — 
"  Edmund  and  Cynthia  too,  and  the  girls.  But  we 
can  do  something  for  them,  can't  we?  I  think  I've 
been  able  to  do  something  for  Cynthia  already,  and 
without  making  her  seem  under  an  obligation." 

"Oh,  you  can  do  things  for  Cynthia.  But  Edmund 
— he  stands  so  on  his  dignity,  you  see.  I  think  he's 
inclined  to  stand  too  much  on  his  dignity,  at  least 
with  me.  After  all,  a  country  squire — I've  come  to  be 
a  good  deal  more  than  that,  and  I'm  the  one  person 
whom  he  might  accept  help  from." 

"  Does  he  really  need  help  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  can  get  along  all  right,  of  course.  But  it's 
a  different  life  for  him  now.  I  suppose  I  couldn't  ex- 
pect him  to  accept  money  from  me  so  that  they  could 
carry  on  in  the  way  they  did  before  the  war.  I'd  give 
it  him  readily  enough  if  he  would,  and  be  glad  to.  But 
there  are  ways  in  which  I  could  help  him — one  in  par- 
ticular. But  one  must  take  him  as  he  is.  We  must 
do  what  we  can  for  Cynthia  and  the  girls,  and  I  shall 
always  be  on  the  lookout  to  do  something  for  him  if  I 
can.  I've  got  on  and  he's  stood  still — or  gone  back, 
rather.  I  don't  want  him  to  go  back  any  further." 


CHAPTER  IX 

LETTERS 

THE  Eldridges  arrived  home  in  time  for  luncheon. 
They  lived  in  a  large  house  in  Belgravia,  old  enough 
to  have  some  character  of  space  and  dignity, 
but  old  enough  also  to  have  been  exceedingly 
inconvenient  if  much  money  had  not  been  spent 
in  modernizing  it.  It  had  been  their  London 
home  for  about  fifteen  years,  and  was  a  trifle 
behind  the  latest  fashion  in  furnishing  and  decoration. 
The  latest  of  such  fashions,  it  should  be  recognized, 
rests  upon  the  recognition  of  the  value  of  older  fashions, 
wKich  in  its  fulness  dates  from  a  very  few  years  back. 
There  was  plenty  of  good  old  furniture  in  the  Eldridges' 
house,  some  of  it  now  of  considerable  value,  but  it  would 
have  welded  itself  into  quite  a  different  whole  if  the 
"  doing  up  "  and  furnishing  of  the  house  had  been  taken 
in  hand  some  years  later  than  it  was.  The  time  was 
approaching  when  Sir  William  would  acquire  another, 
possibly  still  larger  house,  and  begin  all  over  again.  He 
was  already  vaguely  dissatisfied  with  this  one;  but  it 
had  qualities  which  pleased  him  too,  and  he  had  never 
quite  lost  the  sense  of  satisfaction  with  which  he  had 
moved  into  it  from  a  smaller  house  and  spent  money 
upon  making  it  the  place  in  which  they  should  live  the 
larger  life  that  was  then  opening  out  before  them.  His 

108 


LETTERS  109 

own  room,  with  its  outlook  upon  a  little  square  of 
walled-in  garden,  was  a  very  refuge,  and  he  and  his  wife 
sometimes  sat  there  in  the  few  evenings  when  they  were 
at  home  together  alone,  in  a  grateful  seclusion  of  green 
morocco  and  bright  Turkey  carpet,  with  books  and 
prints  on  the  Morris-decked  walls,  and  only  the  huge 
and  hideous  American  desk,  of  the  palest  possible 
growth  of  oak,  to  indicate  the  sterner  purposes  to 
which  the  room  was  primarily  dedicated. 

Sir  William  went  into  this  room  on  their  arrival,  and 
turned  over  the  pile  of  letters  and  papers  that  were 
there  awaiting  him.  He  opened  a  few  of  them,  and 
glanced  over  their  contents,  and  then  unlocked  his  desk, 
but  only  to  put  certain  of  the  papers  away.  He  was 
too  excited  to  take  up  his  immediate  affairs  in  the  short 
time  that  remained  before  luncheon,  though  on  ordinary 
occasions  he  would  have  done  so,  for  he  hated  wasting 
even  a  few  minutes  of  his  time. 

He  had  thought  over  what  had  happened,  and  what 
might  happen  during  the  journey  to  London.  But, 
coming  thus  into  his  familiar  room,  he  seemed  to  see  it 
all  with  a  new  significance.  He  had  the  feeling  that  he 
had  come  back  to  this  room  a  different  man — a  bigger 
man  than  the  one  who  had  used  it  before ;  and  the  feeling 
rather  surprised  him.  For,  after  all,  to  spend  a  few 
days  in  a  large  country  house  was  no  new  experience  to 
him,  he  had  been  in  close  contact  with  Lord  Chippen- 
ham  before  for  many  months  upon  end,  and  the  idea 
of  a  seat  in  Parliament  was  not  entirely  a  novelty. 
What  had  happened,  he  decided,  as  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  or  stood  looking  out  upon  the  green  and 


110         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

bright  colour  of  the  little  paved  square  of  garden,  was 
that  he  had  attained  to  recognition,  when  he  had 
thought  that  the  official  chapter  of  his  life  was  closed. 
It  set  a  higher  value  on  it,  even  to  himself.  He  was 
not  the  same  man  as  had  for  so  long  occupied  this  room, 
and  thought  of  his  public  work  as  efficiently  done  for  the 
good  of  his  country,  but  as  already  a  thing  of  the  past. 
The  chapter  was  not  closed,  but  might  lead  to  other 
chapters,  beyond  the  present  scope  of  his  imagination. 
It  had  put  him  among  the  men  of  his  time  who  counted 
for  something.  Lord  Chippenham,  whatever  his  stir- 
ring of  expectation  might  have  meant,  undoubtedly 
thought  of  him  as  counting  for  something  already.  The 
last  year,  during  which  he  had  attended  to  his  affairs, 
and  spent  as  much  of  his  time  as  he  could  spare  from 
them  at  Hayslope,  had  only  been  a  lull.  His  foot  was 
already  on  the  ladder  of  distinction,  and  he  might  mount 
on  it  higher  than  he  had  ever  thought  of  mounting. 

He  was  summoned  to  luncheon,  and  took  some  of  his 
as  yet  unopened  letters  in  with  him.  He  did  not  come 
to  the  one  from  his  brother  until  he  and  his  wife  were 
alone  together. 

"Well,  I  never— !" 

Lady  Eldridge  looked  up,  to  see  his  face  dark  and 
angry.  "  Read  that,"  he  said,  throwing  the  letter 
across  to  her ;  "  the  first  part,  I  mean,"  and  waited  till 
she  had  done  so,  though  phrases  of  indignation  kept 
rising  to  his  lips,  which  he  stifled  by  occupying  them 
with  food  and  drink,  too  hastily  consumed. 

He  did  not  wait  for  her  remarks,  when  she  looked  up 
again,  with  consternation  on  her  face.  "  You  heard 


LETTERS  111 

what  I  said  about  Edmund  only  just  this  morning,"  he 
broke  out.  "  I'm  always  thinking  what  I  can  do  for 
him,  and  that's  the  way  he  treats  me  in  return.  Really, 
it's  incredible !  " 

"  I  must  say  I'm  surprised,"  she  said  unwillingly  as  it 
seemed,  and  turned  to  the  letter  again. 

"  It's  beyond  everything,"  he  went  on  angrily. 
"  f  This  treatment  must  stop  ' — what  is  it  that  he  says  ? 
Haven't  I  always  deferred  to  him  at  Hayslope,  because 
he's  my  elder  brother,  and  lately  I've  been  sorry  for 
him?  What  on  earth  can  he  mean  by  writing  to  me 
like  that?  What  treatment,  I  should  like  to  know!  I've 
spent  thousands  of  pounds  on  his  property,  and  should 
never  have  got  a  penny  of  it  back  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
Hugo's  death.  His  position  on  his  own  ground! 
What  have  I  ever  done  to  belittle  it?  " 

She  looked  up  again.  "  I  thought  you  did  consult 
him  about  the  garden,"  she  said. 

"  Of  course  I  did.  I've  never  left  anything  of  that 
sort  undone,  though  under  the  circumstances  in  which 
we  stand  to  one  another  most  men  wouldn't  have  ex- 
pected it.  But  I  know  what  he  is  where  his  rights  are 
concerned." 

"  But  didn't  he  give  his  consent?  " 

Sir  William  hesitated.  "  After  that  letter,  I  suppose 
one  has  to  say  that  he  didn't.  But  you  can  see  how 
it  was.  There  was  absolutely  no  reason  for  his  with- 
holding it.  I  practically  told  him  I  was  going  to  do  it, 
and  he  put  forward  some  objections,  which  I  met.  He 
didn't  press  them,  and  I  went  away  thinking  it  was  all 
understood.  If  you  like  to  say  so,  perhaps  I  didn't 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

ask  his  permission  at  all.  It  would  have  seemed  absurd 
to  do  so." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  that  he  has  taken  it  like  this.  Of 
course  his  letter  is  unreasonable,  but  I  think  it  is  only 
meant  to  assert  his  rights.  He  doesn't  mean  to  stop 
you  going  on." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  going  on  in  the  face  of  that.  I  shall 
wire  to  Coombe  to  stop  the  work.  Besides,  he  does 
mean  that,  doesn't  he?  Let  me  read  it  again." 

She  handed  over  the  letter.  Her  face  was  disturbed. 
"  I  don't  think  Cynthia  can  have  seen  it  before  it  was 
sent,"  she  said. 

"  There's  nothing  about  going  on.  I'm  told  that  I've 
overstepped  my  rights,  and  '  this  sort  of  treatment  must 
now  stop.'  And  fancy  writing  this !  '  I  think  there's 
a  touch  of  vulgarity  in  it.'  Vulgarity!  It's  a  most 
offensive  letter.  One  would  say  that  he  was  laying 
himself  open  to  quarrel  with  me.  I'm  not  going  to 
quarrel  with  him ;  but  I  shall  be  precious  careful  not  to 
give  him  a  handle  against  me  again." 

"  I  don't  think  he  wants  to  quarrel.  It's  his  way. 
He  wouldn't  think  of  the  effect  his  words  might  have. 
I  don't  think  he  even  wants  to  stop  you  making  the 
garden." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  going  on  with  it  now.  For  one  thing, 
this  would  spoil  all  the  pleasure  of  it.  After  all,  I've 
got  other  things  to  .think  of  besides  garden-making  at 
the  Grange.  It  has  just  been  a  recreation,  but  now  I 
dare  say  I  shall  be  too  much  occupied  to  be  able  to  pay 
so  much  attention  to  it.  Really,  you  know,  it's  ridic- 
ulous for  Edmund  to  give  himself  those  airs  of  su- 


LETTERS  113 

periority  over  me.  I've  given  way  too  much  to  them 
in  the  past.  I  wouldn't  say  so  to  anybody  but  you, 
but  what  is  Edmund's  position  compared  to  mine?  I'm 
the  last  man  in  the  world  to  give  myself  airs  because  of 
what  I've  done  in  the  world;  and  with  him  especially 
I've  made  nothing  of  it,  because — well,  because  I've 
hated  the  idea  of  making  a  contrast  between  him  and 
myself.  But  what  I  can't  help  feeling  is  that  he 
might  consider  all  that  too.  I  think  if  I  were  the  elder 
brother  I  should  have  shown  a  good  deal  more  pleasure 
than  he  has  ever  done  at  whatever  success  I  have 
had." 

"  Perhaps  he's  a  little  bit  jealous.  I've  thought  that 
sometimes.  I  don't  think  Cynthia  is,  and  perhaps  such 
a  feeling  might  be  expected  more  from  her  than  from 
him." 

"  Of  course  he's  jealous.  That's  at  the  root  of  it 
all.  It's  a  very  unworthy  feeling  from  one  brother  to 
another." 

"  I  don't  think  he  would  recognize  it  as  jealousy,  and 
if  he  detected  such  a  feeling  in  himself  I  think  he  would 
be  ashamed  of  it.  He  is  fond  of  you,  there's  no  doubt 
about  it,  and  he  relies  on  you,  perhaps  more  than 
he  knows.  He  can't  mean  to  quarrel,  and  if  you 
don't  treat  this  letter  as  an  offence  it  will  all  blow 
over." 

"  My  dear  girl,  what  would  you  have  me  to  do?  I'm 
not  going  to  sit  down  under  it.  My  position  at  Hay- 
slope  would  be  impossible  if  I  were  to  give  in  to  this  sort 
of  thing." 

"  No,  dear,  I  don't  think  so.     You  know  Edmund  so 


114         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

well.  You  know  that  he  is  fond  of  you.  You  have 
always  liked  being  near  one  another,  and  you've  had 
little  jars  before,  which  have  made  no  difference." 

"  Nothing  like  this.  I  call  a  letter  like  that  positively 
insulting." 

"  It  can't  have  been  meant  to  be  that.  If  you  take 
it  in  the  right  way  he'll  be  sorry  for  having  written  it. 
If  you  take  it  as  an  insult — " 

"  What  is  the  right  way  of  taking  it  then?  " 

She  thought  for  a  moment,  and  said  with  slightly 
heightened  colour :  "  You  are  bigger  than  Edmund.  If 
he  has  made  a  mistake,  you  can  afford  not  to  make  the 
same  mistake." 

His  face  changed  at  that,  "  You  always  put  me 
right,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  at  her.  "  Yes,  of  course. 
Poor  old  fellow!  He's  had  a  lot  to  try  him.  He 
doesn't  get  out  into  the  world  as  I  do,  and  of  course 
he  broods  over  his  troubles.  Any  little  thing  upsets 
him." 

She  smiled  at  him  in  her  turn.  "  That's  how  I'm  sure 
it  is,"  she  said.  "  If  he  does  object  to  this  garden  plan, 
it  isn't  much  to  give  it  up,  is  it?  Just  a  little  extra 
amusement,  as  you  said." 

He  laughed,  rather  ruefully.  "  I  don't  like  giving 
up  something  that  I've  set  in  hand,"  he  said.  "  But  if 
it  will  placate  my  respected  brother — " 

"  Perhaps  he  won't  want  you  to,  if  you  return  him 
a  soft  answer." 

"  I'll  do  that  all  right.  If  a  thing's  worth  doing  at 
all  it's  worth  doing  well.  Besides,  you've  blown  away 
my  annoyance,  and,  after  all,  it's  more  in  accordance 


LETTERS 

with  my  nature  to  be  generous  than  to  be  resentful — 
don't  you  think  ?  " 

That  was  just  what  she  did  think.  He  was  quick- 
tempered, but  she  had  had  abundant  experience  of  the 
quick  revulsion  of  feeling  that  came  to  him  when  his 
generosity  was  appealed  to,  and  loved  him  for  it.  Her 
own  impulsions  drove  her  upon  a  more  level  course.  He 
had  no  idea  of  tke  anger  that  his  brother's  letter  had 
aroused  in  her  mind,  that  had  held  her  even  while  she 
was  pleading  for  him,  and  that  held  her  still,  when  by 
her  prompting  he  had  chased  his  away  from  him.  Her 
accusation  of  jealousy  had  been  the  only  sign  of  it  in 
her  speech,  and  she  had  entirely  agreed  with  him  when 
he  had  stigmatized  that  as  a  most  unworthy  feeling 
under  the  circumstances  that  had  called  it  forth.  It 
had  cost  her  an  effort  to  insist  upon  the  ties  that  held 
the  brothers  together.  To  her  mind,  Colonel  Eldridge, 
with  his  narrow  outlook,  and  his  claims  of  superiority, 
was  undeserving  of  the  affection  which  her  husband  con- 
stantly showed  towards  him,  and  showed  little  enough 
of  it  in  return,  though  it  was  true  that  he  relied  upon 
his  brother,  and  made  use  of  him. 

Still,  when  she  was  alone  and  thought  it  all  over,  she 
was  glad  that  she  had  spoken  as  she  had,  putting  aside 
her  own  feelings,  and  playing,  as  she  always  could,  upon 
his,  which  were  so  large  and  generous.  There  was 
Cynthia  to  be  thought  of,  who  was  putting  a  brave  face 
upon  the  restrictions  that  had  so  marred  her  life,  and 
who  expressed  only  to  her,  because  she  was  her  best- 
loved  friend,  what  they  meant  to  her.  And  there  were 
the  dear  children,  whom  she  loved,  and  the  more  because 


she  had  no  daughter  of  her  own.  No,  it  would  never 
have  done  to  allow  a  breach  to  open,  as  might  well  have 
happened,  if  Edmund's  crabbed  obstinacy  had  been 
answered  in  the  way  it  deserved.  They  were  too  much 
bound  up  together  at  Hayslope  not  to  make  all  allow- 
ances for  one  another,  even  where  no  allowance  was 
rightly  due.  Besides,  the  path  of  tolerance  was  always 
the  right  path,  though  it  might  not  be  easy  to  take  it. 

To  Sir  William,  that  path  had  its  allurements.  His 
nature  was  generous  and  he  recognized  it.  It  was  with 
a  glow  of  sclf-gratulation  that  he  sat  down  after  lunch- 
eon to  answer  his  brother's  letter;  and  he  enjoyed  the 
art  with  which  he  brought  to  bear  upon  it,  so  that  his 
meaning  should  be  made  plain,  and  also  his  large-minded 
tolerance. 

Beginning  "  My  dear  Edmund,"  he  first  of  all  wrote 
fully  about  the  affair  in  which  he  was  interesting  him- 
self on  behalf  of  his  brother.  A  good  deal  depended 
upon  the  way  in  which  he  dealt  with  it,  and  he  showed 
that  his  interests  were  deeply  engaged.  In  fact,  some- 
thing had  already  been  done,  for  the  Government  De- 
partment concerned  was  that  of  which  Mr.  Vincent,  one 
of  his  fellow  guests  at  Wellsbury,  was  the  head. 

"  We  have  j.ust  returned  from  our  visit  to  Wellsbury, 
and  fortunately  Henry  Vincent  was  staying  there.  I 
had  a  talk  with  him  about  the  principle  of  the  thing,  and 
I  think  I  may  say  that  I  put  the  right  idea  into  his 
head,  and  that  he  will  act  on  it  generally.  I  told  him 
that  there  was  a  personal  application  of  it  which  I 
wouldn't  trouble  him  with,  and  he  told  me  the  right  man 
to  go  to,  and  said  that  I  could  say  he  had  done  so.  I 


LETTERS  117 

shall  follow  it  up  to-morrow,  and  I  hope  everything  will 
be  satisfactorily  arranged.  It  is  fortunate  that  I 
was  able  to  talk  it  over  with  Vincent.  I  had  never 
happened  to  meet  him  before,  and  it  didn't  do  me  any 
harm  to  come  first  into  contact  with  him  at  Wellsbury." 

That  was  that.  Edmund  would  be  pleased  at  the 
probability  of  this  tiresome  affair  being  settled,  and 
perhaps  impressed  with  the  ease  with  which  such  settle- 
ments were  arranged,  when  it  was  possible  to  approach 
the  well-guarded  head  of  a  Department  on  equal  terms. 

And  now  for  the  other  matter!  which  should  be  dealt 
with  shortly  but  decisively,  and  cleared  out  of  the  way 
altogether  as  a  source  of  complaint. 

He  considered  it  for  a  time.  He  was  sincere  in  his 
desire  to  act  generously  in  face  of  an  unreasonable 
attack.  But  the  offence  was  really  considerable, 
pointed  as  it  was  by  that  disagreeable  charge  of  vul- 
garity, and  it  was  of  no  use  to  pretend  it  wasn't  there. 
He  would  give  way;  but  with  a  gesture.  The  gesture 
would  be  that  it  was  not  worth  while  bothering  about 
so  small  an  affair,  which  could  best  be  expressed  in  a 
few  lines.  Edmund  was  not  to  suppose  that  he  had 
given  him  annoyance;  the  annoyance  was  past-— or 
nearly  so.  He  clung  to  the  idea  of  terseness,  but  lest 
it  should  be  misunderstood,  the  atmosphere  of  friendli- 
ness might  perhaps  best  be  indicated  by  something  more 
intimate  coming  before  it. 

So  he  added  a  paragraph  or  two  about  the  visit  to 
Wellsbury,  the  magnificence  of  the  house,  and  the  illus- 
triousness  of  the  party  gathered  there.  There  was 
something  also  about  Lord  Chippenham  in  his  private 


118        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

relations.  "  I  had  worked  with  him  for  nearly  four 
years,"  he  wrote,  "  without  really  knowing  him  inti- 
mately. He  is  extraordinary  in  the  way  he  keeps  his 
public  and  private  lives  apart,  and  one  feels  it  an 
honour,  even  after  all  this  time,  to  have  been  accepted 
on  terms  of  personal  friendship  with  him." 

The  kernel  of  the  letter  immediately  followed. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  inadvertently  went  against  your 
wishes  in  the  matter  of  Barton's  Close.  I  didn't  under- 
stand you  actually  withheld  your  consent  to  the  garden- 
making,  or  of  course  I  should  not  have  set  it  in  hand. 
I  have  wired  to  Coombe  to  stop  the  work." 

That  was  terse  enough.  The  only  thing  was  that  it 
might  settle  it  too  completely.  He  didn't  want  to  give 
up  his  garden  if  it  could  be  avoided.  Edmund  ought 
not  to  be  discouraged  from  asking  that  the  work  should 
go  on,  though  he  would. not  write  anything  to  show  that 
that  was  in  his  mind.  He  went  on : 

"  I  was  rather  keen  on  this  addition  to  the  garden, 
and  think  it  would  have  improved  the  property,  if  any- 
thing. But  where  Hayslope  is  concerned,  my  chief 
desire  is  to  work  in  with  your  ideas,  even  where  they 
differ  from  mine." 

Would  Edmund  recognize  this  note  of  large  gener- 
osity? It  was  to  be  hoped  so — and  give  way. 

He  read  his  brother's  letter  again,  and  asked  himself 
whether  it  was  possible  to  ignore  the  rudeness  of  it. 
After  careful  consideration  he  added  another  para- 
graph. 

"  I  chink,  my  dear  Edmund,  that  your  general  charge 
against  me  oi  overriding  your  wishes  and  belittling 


LETTERS  119 

your  position  at  Hayslope  can  hardly  be  seriously  made. 
Such  an  attitude  would  be  very  far  from  my  intentions, 
and  I  cannot  charge  my  memory  with  any  single  instance 
of  my  having  done  so.  If  I  have  given  you  any  cause 
for  such  an  accusation,  as  I  suppose  I  must  have  done, 
or  you  would  not  have  brought  it  against  me,  it  can 
only  have  been  because  I  have  been  so  occupied  with 
affairs  outside  Hayslope  that  I  have  perhaps  treated 
Hayslope  itself  as  of  less  importance  than  it  naturally 
is  to  you.  If  so,  I  apologize.  Hayslope  still  holds  the 
warmest  corner  in  my  heart  of  any  place  in  England, 
or  out  of  it  for  that  matter.  But  the  world  is  a  large 
place,  and  when  one  is  taking  a  part,  however  modest,  in 
dealing  with  the  difficulties  that  it  is  now  involved  in, 
the  affairs  of  one  small  corner  of  it  do  not  bulk  so  large 
as  if  one  could  give  all  one's  attention  to  them." 

He  ended  resolutely.  The  intended  terseness  had  al- 
ready been  somewhat  whittled  away,  and  it  was  not  his 
idea  to  read  Edmund  a  lecture,  or  he  might  have  read 
him  a  much  longer  one.  This  would  suffice.  In  the 
future  he  might  be  more  closely  devoted  to  the  task  of 
putting  the  world  straight  again  than  he  was  now,  and 
Hayslope  would  be  of  still  less  importance  to  him.  If 
Edmund  had  his  dignity  as  Squire  of  Hayslope  so  much 
at  heart,  it  must  strike  even  him  that  the  dignity  of  a 
probable  Cabinet  Minister — so  far  had  Sir  William's  as- 
piring thoughts  led  him  in  the  last  few  hours — was  con- 
siderably above  it.  On  reading  his  letter,  he  thought 
that  it  might  have  been  better  to  close  with  the  sentence 
ending,  "  my  having  done  so,"  and  omit  that  beginning, 
"  If  I  have  given  you  any  cause."  But  that  would 


120        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

have  involved  rewriting  four  whole  pages,  and  the  coda 
was  really  only  a  slight  fault  in  the  technique  of  his 
protest,  and  not  in  its  intention.  So  he  left  the  letter 
as  it  was,  and  presently  posted  it  himself. 

Lady  Eldridge  also  addressed  a  letter  to  Hayslope 
that  afternoon,  to  her  sister-in-law.  She  usually  wrote 
to  her  once  in  the  week,  and  knew  that  she  would  want 
to  hear  all  about  the  visit  to  Wellsbury.  But  she  did 
not  begin  with  that. 

"  Dearest  Cynthia : — I  am  sorry  that  Edmund 
is  annoyed  about  the  garden.  I  am  sure  you  know 
that  neither  William  nor!  I  would  want  to  do 
anything  at  the  Grange  that  he  objected  to,  but 
I  can't  help  thinking  that  his  putting  a  veto  on  it 
is  rather  unreasonable.  William  has  telegraphed  for 
the  work  to  be  stopped,  but  I  do  hope  that  Edmund 
doesn't  really  mean  that  the  garden  is  not  to  be  made. 
It  would  be  such  a  disappointment,  for  you  know  what 
fun  we  have  had  in  working  it  all  out.  William  does 
love  Hayslope,  and  all  that  he  has  done  at  the  Grange. 
Perhaps  in  the  future  he  may  have  more  work  to  do,  and 
Hayslope  will  be  more  of  a  recreation  to  him  than  ever. 
So  try  to  get  it  put  right  if  you  can.  William  thinks 
so  much  of  Edmund,  and  I'm  sure  Edmund  does  of 
William  too.  He  can't  really  want  to  put  such  a  slight 
on  him  as  this-  would  be.  I  think  William  has  shown, 
by  wiring  at  once  for  the  work  to  be  stopped,  that  he 
idoesn't  want  to  go  against  Edmund.  I'm  not  sure, 
from  his  letter,  that  Edmund  will  even  have  expected 
that.  If  not,  do  get  him  to  withdraw.  I  can  write  this 


LETTERS 

plainly  to  you,  though  perhaps  William  couldn't  to 
Edmund,  after  his  letter.  Men  are  more  unreasonable 
than  we  are,  though  they  prefer  to  call  it  logical.  But 
we  can't  helping  loving  them  all  the  same-*-those  that 
we  do  love." 

Then  she  went  on  to  tell  all  about  Wellsbury,  and 
gave  an  amusing  account  of  their  visit,  full  of  light 
descriptive  detail  of  the  men  and  women  they  had  met 
there,  with  some  descriptions  from  the  inside  of  a  house 
that  was  famous  throughout  the  world.  But  she  wrote 
nothing  of  what  had  been  said  to  her  about  her  husband, 
and  gave  no  hint  of  anything  that  might  be  coming  to 
him. 


CHAPTER  X 

RECONCILIATION 

THE  Earl  of  Crowborough,  though  he  lived  in  a  Castle, 
and  enjoyed  a  rent-roll  which  provided  him  with  every- 
thing that  was  suitable  to  his  rank  in  the  way  of  elab- 
orate living,  yet  shared  many  simple  tastes  with  people 
of  less  exalted  station.  Among  them  was  that  of  pro- 
pelling himself  about  on  a  tricycle.  He  had  acquired 
one  of  those  machines  in  their  early  days  of  solid  rubber 
tires,  before  the  invention  of  the  safety  bicycle,  and 
ridden  it  for  many  years,  until  it  became  almost  a 
curiosity,  or  what  the  shops  call  an  "  antique."  He 
would  probably  have  continued  to  ride  it  until  it  could 
be  repaired  no  longer;  but  riding  through  the  village 
of  Pershore  one  morning  he  had  heard  somebody — he 
never  wished  to  inquire  whom — call  out :  "  Here  comes 
that  old  fool  on  his  bone-shaker ! "  After  that  he  had 
bought  a  new  tricycle  of  the  latest  pattern  and  its 
pneumatic  tires  and  easy  running  had  given  him  a  new 
delight  in  his  chosen  form  of  exercise  and  locomotion ; 
so  that  he  could  hardly  be  persuaded  to  drive  in  a 
motor-car  or  behind  horses  when  he  was  in  the  country, 
and  would  have  ridden  his  tricycle  in  London  if  he  had 
not  shrunk  from  the  comments  that  might  reach  his 
ears. 

It  was  on  his  tricycle  that  he  rode  over  to  Hayslope 
one    afternoon    to    look   up    his    old    friend,    Colonel 

122 


RECONCILIATION  123 

Eldridge.  He  did  want  this  unpleasantness  between 
them  ended,  and  though  he  believed  that  he  had  been 
the  chiefly  injured  party,  his  kindness  of  heart  prompted 
him  to  have  done  with  it  all  and  forget  it.  He  was  a 
creature  of  habit,  and  Hayslope  and  the  people  who  lived 
there  had  «ome  into  his  life  in  the  country  ever  since  his 
childhood.  At  the  height  of  the  recent  disturbances 
he  had  never  got  rid  of  the  feeling  of  discomfort  when 
custom  had  suggested  to  him  that  he  should  ride  over 
to  Hayslope,  as  he  had  so  often  been  wont  to  do,  and 
he  had  realized  that  the  familiar  road  was  closed  to 
him.  He  had  continued  to  visit  the  Grange,  but  it  was 
not  the  same  thing.  The  Grange  was  new,  at  least  in 
its  present  aspect;  the  Hall  was  the  same  as  he  had 
always  known  it — a  nice  comfortable  place  full  of  old 
memories  which  kept  alive  old  friendships.  There  was 
no  other  house  within  reach  of  his  that  he  liked  so 
much.  And  though  he  liked  William  Eldridge,  it  was 
Edmund  towards  whom  his  deeper  feelings  went  out. 
They  had  been  friends  for  nearly  fifty  years.  Lord 
Crowborough  did  not  possess  many  intimate  friends, 
and  there  was  no  special  community  of  taste  between 
him  and  Colonel  Eldridge,  or  even  of  interest,  outside 
their  common  interests  as  neighbouring  landowners. 
But  a  tie  had  grown  up  between  them.  Edmund 
Eldridge  did  not  make  the  demands  upon  his  substan- 
tial but  slow  moving  intellect  that  William  did ;  they 
were  always  at  ease  together. 

He  could  not  do  without  his  old  friend.  Speculation 
was  alien  to  his  habit  of  mind,  but  he  did  sometimes 
wonder,  during  the  course  of  their  estrangement, 


124-         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

whether  the  same  sense  of  blankness  might  not  be  work- 
ing in  Edmund  as  well.  At  last  he  decided  to  go  over 
and  see.  He  made  no  plans  as  to  what  he  should  do 
if  he  were  received  coldly,  nor  did  he  intend  to  make 
any  appeal.  He  wanted  Edmund  again,  and  it  was  in 
his  mind,  though  not  consciously  defined  as  an  expecta- 
tion, that  Edmund  would  be  glad  to  see  him. 

Behold  him,  then,  laboriously  pedalling  up  the  drive 
to  Hayslope  Hall  on  a  warm  afternoon,  a  not  undigni- 
fied figure,  though  his  large  form  lurched  and  swayed 
as  he  took  the  rise,  and  his  chosen  form  of  country 
costume  was  a  suit  of  pepper  and  salt  and  a  high- 
crowned  felt  hat.  But  for  his  coloured  tie,  he  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  country  parson  of  the  older 
school,  and  he  would  not  have  been  displeased  at  the 
comparison,  for  he  was  a  pillar  of  the  church  on  its 
official  side,  and  had  a  greater  regard  for  its  religious 
significance  than  many  of  its  supporters  in  that  aspect. 

Life  was  pursuing  its  ordinary  course  at  Hayslope 
Hall  on  a  summer  afternoon.  In  these  leaner  times 
lawn  tennis  was  apt  to  be  the  chief  of  its  recreations, 
and  the  excuse  for  the  gathering  together  of  neighbours. 
There  were  several  of  them  in  the  garden  as  Lord 
Crowborough  was  convoyed  across  the  lawn,  mopping 
his  super-heated  brow,  and  wishing  that  his  first  ap- 
pearance were  a  little  less  public.  Colonel  Eldridge 
was  playing;  but  he  left  off  immediately,  and  after 
greeting  his  old  friend  called  to  somebody  else  to  take 
his  place  in  the  game,  though  Lord  Crowborough 
begged  him  to  continue  it. 

Colonel  Eldridge  was  not  a  man  to  show  his  emotions 


RECONCILIATION  125 

except  occasionally  that  of  annoyance,  but  they  were 
strong  within  him  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  familiar 
figure  advancing  towards  him,  and  would  have  made  it 
impossible  for  him  to  continue  the  game,  though  he 
was  in  the  middle  of  his  service. 

He  had  never  realized  until  that  moment — perhaps 
he  had  forbidden  himself  the  realization — how  warm  a 
corner  there  was  in  his  heart  for  this  tall,  bulky  figure, 
and  how  empty  that  place  had  been  of  late.  The  last 
vestiges  of  resentment  against  him  melted  away  com- 
pletely. He  was  as  glad  to  see  him  as  he  had  ever  been 
to  see  anybody. 

But  nothing  of  this  showed  in  his  face,  hardly  even 
the  pleasure,  as  he  shook  hands  with  him,  and  said: 
"  Halloa  !  Tricycled  over  ?  Afraid  you've  got  rather 
warm." 

A  little  later  they  were  sitting  together  indoors,  in 
grateful  coolness,  and  there  was  a  tumbler  at  Lord 
Crowborough's  elbow,  which,  however,  contained  noth- 
ing alcoholic.  No  word  had  been  said  about  the  late 
dispute,  but  the  two  men  were  on  their  old  terms. 
There  was  gratitude  in  the  minds  of  both  of  them,  but 
it  did  not  show  in  their  speech,  which  was  level  and 
unconcerned. 

They  talked  first  chiefly  about  the  land,  and  the  diffi- 
culties of  landlords,  with  special  reference  to  Mr. 
Henry  Vincent,  and  whether  he  knew  anything  about 
the  conditions  of  landowning  at  all  or  was  only  out  to 
screw  as  much  as  possible  out  of  the  unfortunate  land- 
lord. The  question  admitted  of  some  doubt,  and  there 
were  instances  to  be  brought  forward  in  support  of 


126         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

either  view.  The  matter  that  was  engaging  Colonel 
Eldridge's  attention  at  this  time,  which  also  affected 
Lord  Crowborough,  was  fully  discussed,  and  Sir 
William's  name  came  up  in  the  course  of  discussion. 

"  I  don't  think  he  knows  Vincent,"  said  Colonel 
Eldridge ;  "  but  I  suppose  it  would  be  easy  for  him  to 
get  an  introduction.  He  has  the  whole  business  at  his 
fingers'  ends,  and  is  keen  to  get  it  settled  on  the  lines 
we've  agreed  upon." 

"  William's  a  very  capable  fellow,"  said  Lord  Crow- 
borough.  "  If  he  throws  himself  into  a  question  of  this 
sort  he's  likely  to  get  it  put  through — unless  he  puts 
their  backs  up." 

"Why  should  he  do  that?" 

"  Well,  I've  a  great  admiration  for  William,  and  of 
course  it  has  been  a  pleasure  to  me,  knowing  him  ever 
since  he  was  a  boy,  to  see  him  climb  up  the  ladder;  he 
did  extraordinary  good  work  during  the  war;  I've 
heard  fellows  say  so.  But  I've  met  people  who  say 
that — well,  that  he  does  put  people's  backs  up;  that 
he's  got  a  way  of  pushing  his  own  ideas,  and  won't 
listen  to  anything  against  them.  I  don't  say  it,  mind 
you." 

"  I  think  it's  a  very  unfair  accusation."  Colonel 
Eldridge  spoke  warmly,  and  it  delighted  Lord  Crow- 
borough's  heart  to  hear  him.  He  even  disposed  him- 
self to  increase  his  indignation,  because  if  they  two 
could  dispute  upon  a  subject,  as  they  always  had  done, 
and  still  remain  fast  friends,  the  larger  dispute  which 
had  set  them  at  enmity  for  a  time  must  hold  out  no 
further  danger. 


RECONCILIATION  127 

"  Well,  that's  what  a  number  of  people  do  say,"  he 
said  dogmatically. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  contradict  it  if  they  say  it  to 
you.  You  know  William." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  I  like  William.  Nobody  likes  William 
more  than  I  do,  but  he  does  set  great  store  by  his  own 
opinion.  It's  a  very  good  thing,  if  you're  running  a 
business  or  whatever  it  may  be.  Make  up  your  mind 
what  you  want  done  and  don't  listen  to  the  people 
who  want  it  done  differently.  I  dare  say  that's  all  it 
really  means.  Still,  that's  the  general  opinion  of 
William,  and  there's  no  good  shutting  your  eyes  to  it. 
Besides,  you  must  have  had  experience  of  it  yourself. 
You  and  William  get  on  very  well  here — better  than 
most  brothers  would,  I  dare  say — but  if  William  wants 
his  own  way  I'll  bet  he  takes  it." 

Lord  Crowborough  went  rather  beyond  what  he  had 
grounds  for  saying  here,  for  the  sake  of  keepfng  up 
that  mood  of  opposition  which  under  the  circumstances 
was  gratifying  to  him,  and  was  not  prepared  to 
give  chapter  and  verse  for  his  statement,  as  he  was 
now  requested  to  do. 

"Has  anybody  told  you  that?  What  do  you  mean 
by  it  exactly?  Is  there  any  gossip  about  any  dispute 
between  William  and  me?  It  would  annoy  me  very 
much  if  it  were  so." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  that,  Edmund.  You  know  best 
what's  passing  between  you  and  William." 

Colonel  Eldridge  jumped  to  conclusions.  "  It's 
damnably  annoying  how  things  get  put  about,  and  exag- 
gerated," he  said.  "  William  and  I  are  the  best  of 


friends — always  have  been;  but  each  of  us  has  got  his 
own  way  of  looking  at  things  and  sometimes  I  don't  say 
we  don't  have  a  little  breeze,  which  makes  no  difference, 
or  we  shouldn't  have  chosen  to  live  here  close  together 
for  so  many  years." 

"  That's  true  enough ;  though  of  course  it's  William 
who  has  chosen  to  live  here,  for  you  can't  help  your- 
self." 

"  That's  a  foolish  way  of  putting  it.  If  I  hadn't  let 
William  do  what  he  liked  with  the  Grange  he  wouldn't 
have  wanted  to  live  here;  there  wouldn't  have  been  a 
house  for  him.  It  hasn't  altogether  suited  me  what 
he  has  done  there,  but  I've  let  him  do  it  because  I  like 
having  him  there." 

"  I  suppose  as  he  and  his  boy  will  come  after  you 
it  doesn't  so  much  matter  what  he  does.  I  must  say 
I  shouldn't  like,  myself,  to  have  a  house  of  that  sort 
growing  up  within  a  stone's  throw  of  my  own.  I 
should  think  the  Grange  is  as  big  as  this  house  now, 
isn't  it?  And  with  William  I  should  never  be  surprised 
to  see  it  a  good  deal  bigger.  He's  a  fellow  who  likes 
spending  his  money  and  never  seems  satisfied  with 
what  he's  got." 

"  There's  some  truth  in  what  you  say  there,  and  as 
a  matter  of  fact  William  and  I  have  discussed  that 
very  question.  He  is  making  an  addition  to  his  garden 
there  at  this  very  minute.  I  dare  say  gossip  has 
got  about  that  I  objected.  Well,  I  did  tell  him 
that  I  thought  it  had  gone  quite  far  enough,  and 
I  shouldn't  care  for  any  further  additions  to  be 
made." 


RECONCILIATION  129 

"  But  you  didn't  stop  him  making  this  one  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  didn't.  I  tell  you  that  we  understand 
one  another  thoroughly." 

"  There  you  are  then.  In  the  long  run  it  comes  to 
this,  that  he  does  exactly  what  he  likes,  which  is  what 
I  said  at  the  beginning.  Still,  William's  a  good  fellow, 
and  I  know  he's  devoted  to  you ;  I've  reason  to  know  it. 
I  should  like  to  have  a  brother  of  that  sort  myself,  but 
my  brother  Alfred  has  always  been  a  nuisance  to  me, 
with  his  schemes  for  making  enormous  fortunes  which 
never  came  off.  It's  different  when  your  brother  has 
a  lot  more  money  than  you  have.  It's  a  very  good 
thing,  with  all  the  burdens  they're  heaping  on  land 
nowadays,  to  have  money  brought  into  a  property 
from  outside.  I  suppose  William  could  buy  another 
place  now,  if  he  wanted  to.  I  rather  admire  him  for 
sticking  to  Hayslope,  and  if  it  amuses  him  to  spend 
money  on  the  Grange — well,  it's  because  he  likes  it 
better  than  any  other  place." 

Colonel  Eldridge  walked  to  the  lodge  gates  with 
Lord  Crowborough,  who,  mounted  on  his  machine, 
suited  his  pace  to  his.  They  parted  with  much  good 
will  on  either  side,  though  with  no  more  than  a  "  Good- 
bye then  for  the  present  "  to  show  it. 

As  he  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house,  his  heart 
was  tender  within  him.  It  was  almost  worth  while  to 
have  quarrelled  with  this  old  friend  to  have  him  back 
on  the  old  terms  again.  But  quarrelling  was  never 
worth  while.  He  had  come  rather  near  to  quarrelling 
with  William  over  that  affair  of  Barton's  Close.  He 
remembered  with  some  compunction  that  he  had  spoken 


130         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

angrily  to  his  wife  about  it,  and  had  written  to  William 
with  more  irritation  than  he  now  liked  to  think  about; 
though  he  had  shown  in  the  latter  part  of  his  letter 
that  the  strength  of  his  protest  was  not  meant  to  go 
deeper  than  its  expression.  William  had  not  yet 
answered  his  letter,  as  there  would  have  been  just  time 
for  him  to  do,  which  seemed  to  show  that  he  had 
not  taken  it  in  offence;  and  the  work  of  his  garden 
was  still  going  on.  Colonel  Eldridge  had  been  inclined 
to  take  exception  to  that,  although  he  was  quite  pre- 
pared for  it  to  go  on.  It  would  have  been  better  if 
William  had  written,  saying  that  he  had  not  under- 
stood his  objection  as  serious,  or  something  of  that 
sort.  It  gave  some  colour  to  Crowborough's  criticism 
of  his  way  of  pushing  through  his  intentions.  But  it 
was  true,  what  Crowborough  had  also  said,  that  he 
loved  Hayslope,  and  preferred  to  spend  his  money 
there  rather  than  to  make  another  place  to  his  liking. 
Colonel  Eldridge  well  knew  that  itch,  for  improvement, 
and  more  improvement,  and  had  acted  upon  it  himself 
in  the  days  when  there  had  been  money  to  spare  for 
that  sort  of  thing.  He  now  thought  of  his  protest  as 
altogether  exaggerated,  and  wished  he  hadn't  made  it. 
He  was  even  inclined  to  be  interested  in  the  new  garden 
that  William  had  designed,  and  thought  that  he  might 
be  able  to  suggest  some  slight  improvement  in  the  details 
of  the  design  when  they  came  together  on  it,  with  the 
protest  put  aside  and  forgotten. 

As  he  walked  slowly  along  on  the  grass  by  the  drive, 
with  the  wide  acres  of  his  park  surrounding  him,  the 
sheep  and  cattle  feeding  peacefully,  or  lying  in  the 


RECONCILIATION  131 

shade  of  the  trees  in  which  he  took  pride,  he  thought 
of  himself  as  too  apt  to  get  annoyed  about  trifles. 

It  had  not  always  been  so.  He  was  rigid  in  the 
demands  he  made  upon  others,  but  he  thought  about 
them  kindly  too — even  his  servants,  whom  he  treated 
with  old-fashioned  stiffness,  but  whose  welfare  he  would 
take  pains  to  promote;  much  more  the  members  of  his 
family,  in  whose  happiness  his  was  bound  up.  He  was 
the  head  of  his  house,  and  that  must  be  recognized 
by  everybody  around  him.  But  his  rule  was  not  exer- 
cised for  his  own  exclusive  benefit,  and  it  had  been  his 
pride  not  to  make  it  irksome  by  indulgence  in  transi- 
tory moods. 

He  was  more  at  peace  with  himself  at  this  moment 
than  he  had  been  since  his  troubles  had  come  upon 
him.  He  saw  that  the  trouble  about  money  had  loomed 
too  large  in  his  mind.  There  was  enough  money  to  live 
in  the  quiet  way  in  which  life  had  been  going  at  Hay- 
slope  Hall,  now  for  some  time  past.  Cynthia  was  mak- 
ing herself  happy  in  it ;  the  children  were  happy.  Why 
shouldn't  he  be  ?  For  the  first  time  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  life  lived  more  closely  to  the  soil  than  it  had  come 
to  be  lived  in  such  houses  as  his  before  the  war.  In  the 
time  of  his  great-grandfather,  before  a  rich  marriage 
had  brought  more  money  into  the  family,  when  a  Lon- 
don house  had  been  added  to  the  country  one,  and  the 
country  house  keyed  up  to  a  more  elaborate  style,  Hay- 
slope  had  been  occupied  for  by  far  the  greater  part  of 
the  year,  with  a  rare  visit  to  London  or  Bath,  or  to  the 
country  houses  of  friends  or  relations.  There  were  old 
letters  and  diaries  in  the  library  which  told  of  the  life 


132        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

that  had  centred  at  Hayslope  in  those  days.  It 
was  far  simpler  than  the  life  that  he  and  his  had  lived 
there  before  the  war,  but  it  seemed  to  have  contented 
those  who  lived  it. 

They  saw  the  seasons  in  and  out,  and  each  had  its 
duties  as  well  as  pleasures.  Guests  would  be  enter- 
tained for  weeks  together,  and  live  the  daily  life  of  their 
hosts;  they  seemed  to  see  even  more  of  their  country 
neighbours,  who  lived  in  the  same  way  as  they  did,  with 
their  recognized  indoor  and  outdoor  pursuits  to  fill 
the  days,  and  their  merry-makings  in  company,  more 
eagerly  looked  forward  to  than  the  more  frequent  and 
elaborate  amusements  of  today.  The  great  charm  of 
those  days  seemed  in  part  actually  to  rest  upon  the 
difficulty  of  communication  with  the  world  outside, 
which  concentrated  the  sweets  of  life  upon  the  country 
home.  And  where  the  home  was  of  the  spacious  and 
well-provided  kind  of  Hayslope  Hall,  it  must  have 
been  more  cherished  than  if  it  were  only  resorted  to 
for  periods  in  the  year,  and  even  those  periods  broken 
up  by  frequent  departures  elsewhere. 

Perhaps  that  old  stay-at-home  life  of  the  country 
house  would  come  back  of  compulsion,  now  that  so 
many  people  were  straitened  in  circumstances.  It 
would  be  a  good  thing  in  many  ways  if  it  did ;  if  the 
men  who  owned  the  land  lived  more  closely  to  it,  and 
identified  themselves  with  those  who  were  bound  to  it. 
That  was  a  larger  question;  but  there  was  no  doubt 
that  it  could  be  made  a  satisfying  life,  if  the  necessary 
changes  were  squarely  faced  and  accepted,  and  the  life 
was  arranged  on  a  new  basis.  It  came  to  his  mind,  with 


RECONCILIATION  133 

a  gratifying  sense  of  discovery,  that  for  him  and  his 
family  that  basis  had  already  been  found.  It  only 
remained  to  cease  always  casting  back  towards  what 
had  been  before  and  could  now  be  no  longer.  The  best 
part  remained,  and  life  for  him  and  his  at  Hayslope 
might  be  happy  as  it  had  ever  been. 

And  the  other  deeper  trouble  was  clearing  too.  He 
was  glad  that  it  had  been  mentioned  between  him  and 
his  old  friend,  whom  for  a  time  it  had  parted.  At  the 
last,  as  they  had  gone  down  the  drive  together,  Lord 
Crowborough  had  said  to  him,  quite  simply :  "  We  fell 
out  about  your  poor  boy,  Edmund.  I  don't  want  to 
go  away  and  leave  him  as  something  that  must  never 
be  mentioned  between  us.  It  was  a  sad  business,  but 
for  him  it  was  wiped  out  when  he  fought  well  and  was 
killed.  He  was  your  only  son,  and  you've  lost  him. 
I've  been  more  lucky  in  keeping  mine." 

That  had  put  the  finishing  touch  to  their  reconcilia- 
tion. Hugo's  lapses  could  be  forgotten  now,  as  they 
had  been  forgiven.  They  had  been  bad.  For  a  long 
time  after  his  death  one  trouble  after  another  had 
come  because  of  him,  one  revelation  after  another  had 
been  made.  He  had  kept  them  nearly  all  to  himself. 
Only  his  brother  knew  something  of  them,  and  he  knew 
by  no  means  all.  His  wife  knew  nothing.  But  an  end 
seemed  to  have  come  to  it  at  last.  The  burden  on  his 
mind  was  lifting,  though  it  still  lay  heavy  upon  his 
purse,  and  would  mean  rigid  economy  for  years  to 
come. 

How  good  William  had  been  about  it  all!  A  real 
consolation  and  support  in  his  troubles,  and  willing, 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

as  he  was  able,  to  lift  even  the  money  burden  of  them 
from  him.  He  blamed  himself  for  having  shown  the 
irritability  that  had  grown  upon  him,  under  the  stress 
he  had  gone  through,  towards  his  brother.  It  was  a 
poor  return  for  what  he  had  been  so  ready  to  do  for 
him,  to  make  a  mountain  out  of  that  little  molehill 
of  irritation  over  Barton's  Close.  But  William  would 
not  make  too  much  of  that.  Perhaps  the  very  best  way 
to  show  him  that  it  had  been  only  a  surface  irritation, 
which  did  not  affect  the  permanent  tie  of  affection 
between  them,  would  be  to  accept  the  help  that  he  had 
so  freely  offered.  Only  pride  had  held  him  back,  and 
that  had  prevented  him  from  even  acknowledging  the 
generosity  of  the  offer.  He  had  simply  put  it  aside. 
With  that  burden  removed,  scarcely  any  trouble  would 
remain  to  him  at  all.  He  had  already  everything  that 
was  necessary  to  his  own  life  for  the  remainder  of  his 
years.  It  was  only  upon  Cynthia  and  the  children  that 
the  economies  which  now  had  to  be  practised  bore 
hardly.  With  this  relief,  which  it  was  open  to  him  to 
take  at  any  time,  he  could  give  them  more — if  not  all 
that  he  would  have  been  able  to  give  them  but  for  the 
war.  And  he  knew  that  William  would  be  pleased  if 
he  were  to  go  to  him  and  say  that  he  would  accept 
his  help.  It  would  bind  them  together  still  more 
closely,  for  it  would  mean  the  merging  of  pride  in 
affection. 

He  saw  it  all  in  that  moment  of  enlightenment  and 
softer  feeling,  and  lingered  on  his  way  back  to  the 
house  to  taste  the  serener  air  which  his  vision  brought 
him.  His  well-loved  home  would  be  a  source  of  delight 


RECONCILIATION  135 

to  him  once  more,  and  no  longer  a  source  of  anxiety, 
if  he  were  to  take  the  freedom  that  he  could  have  at 
any  time  by  a  word  of  surrender.  He  looked  about 
him  before  he  entered  the  house,  and  the  sunshine  that 
steeped  the  wide  spaces  of  the  park  seemed  brighter 
and  lovelier  than  before.  There  had  lain  a  veil  over  the 
beauties  of  his  home.  But  it  only  needed  a  gesture  of 
his  to  have  it  removed  altogether. 

The  parlour-maid  met  him  as  he  went  into  the  hall. 
"  Mr.  Coombe,  Sir  William's  gardener,  would  like  to 
see  you,  sir." 

He  went  into  his  business  room,  where  the  man  was 
waiting  for  him. 

"  I've  had  this  telegram  from  Sir  William,  sir." 

He  handed  over  the  pink  sheet,  and  stood  respect- 
fully, cap  in  hand,  while  Colonel  Eldridge  read  it.  But 
his  eyes  rested  upon  him  with  an  expression  that  had 
nothing  pleasant  in  it. 

"  Stop  work  on  new  garden  at  once ;  pay  outside 
labourers  week's  wages  and  dismiss  them." 

Colonel  Eldridge's  eyes,  resting  upon  the  paper, 
remained  there  longer  than  it  required  to  take  in  its 
meaning.  Coming  immediately  upon  the  thoughts  with 
which  his  mind  had  been  full,  they  gave  him  an 
unpleasant  shock,  the  effect  of  which  he  could  not 
entirely  hide  from  the  man  who  had  administered 
it  to  him. 

"  There's  a  mistake,"  he  said  shortly.  "  I  never 
intended  that  the  work  should  be  stopped." 

Coombe  did  not  take  this  up.  "  I've  come  to  ask, 
sir,"  he  said,  "  if  anything  can  be  done  about  the  men 


136        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

I  got  in  to  help  with  the  work.  I  had  a  good  deal  of 
difficulty  in  finding  them,  and  I  told  them  it  was  likely 
to  be  at  least  a  two  months'  job.  Sir  William  said  I 
could  count  it  as  that.  They're  mostly  men  who've 
been  in  the  army — unemployed.  There's  dissatisfac- 
tion among  them,  and  I — " 

Colonel  Eldridge  had  allowed  him  to  go  on  because 
he  wanted  time  to  collect  himself;  but  he  now  inter- 
rupted brusquely :  "  There's  no  need  to  make  trouble 
at  all.  You  can  tell  them  there's  been  a  mistake,  and 
they  can  go  on." 

Coombe's  eyes  dropped.  He  was  a  youngish  man, 
with  a  self-confident  air,  but  with  something  secretive 
in  his  appearance  and  demeanour  which  seemed  to  con- 
tradict his  quiet  respectful  manner.  "  I've  given  them 
notice,  sir,  on  that  telegram,"  he  said.  "I  couldn't 
do  anything  else." 

"  You  ought  to  have  come  and  seen  me  first.  It 
seems  to  me  that  you've  been  glad  of  the  opportunity 
to  make  trouble." 

It  was  a  relief  to  him  to  speak  like  this.  He  disliked 
the  man  who  stood  before  him  with  his  sleek,  respectful 
air,  which  he  suspected  to  hide  hostility  that  would 
show  itself  in  insolence  if  it  dared. 

"  I  didn't  come  to  see  you  about  that,  sir.  My  in- 
structions are  plain  enough  from  that  telegram,  and 
I'd  only  got  to  carry  them  out." 

"  Then  why  do  you  come  to  me  at  all?  " 

"  Because  I  thought  you  might  be  able  to  do  some- 
thing to  keep  these  men  from  making  trouble,  sir,  as  Sir 
William  isn't  here.  Only  two  of  them  belong  to  Hay- 


RECONCILIATION  1 37 

slope — Jackson  and  Pegg.  The  others  are  lodging  here. 
I've  paid  them  their  wages,  as  instructed,  and  with  no 
work  to  do  they're  likely  to  get  drinking  and — " 

**  Oh,  it's  out  of  consideration  for  the  good  behaviour 
of  the  village  you've  come  to  me,  is  it?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  And  because  Sir  William  isn't  here  to 
deal  with  it." 

Colonel  Eldridge  was  getting  more  and  more 
annoyed  with  him.  But  his  training  prevented  his 
showing  more  annoyance  with  men  of  this  class  than 
he  could  make  effectual.  "  Sir  William  is  your  master," 
he  said,  "  and  you  are  quite  right  to  take  your  orders 
from  him.  But  you  know  perfectly  well  that  it's  for 
me  as  a  magistrate  to  deal  with  anything  of  that  sort, 
whether  he  is  here  or  not." 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  why  I  have  come  to  you.  I  only 
meant  that  as  the  men  are  upset-like  at  Sir  William's 
turning  them  off,  he  might  have  done  something  to  quiet 
them." 

There  was  no  offence  apparent  in  this.  Colonel 
Eldridge  thought  for  a  moment.  "  The  best  thing  to 
do  is  to  tell  them  that  there  has  been  a  mistake,"  he 
said.  "  They  can  go  back  to  their  work.  You  can 
tell  them  that  on  my  authority,  and  I'll  make  it  right 
with  Sir  William." 

Coombe  hesitated,  and  then  came  plump  out  with  a 
refusal.  "  I  can't  do  that,  sir,  without  instructions- 
from  Sir  William  himself." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Coombe  kept  his  eyes 
on  the  ground,  but  his  face  became  a  shade  paler. 
Colonel  Eldridge  looked  at  him  as  if  he  would  have 


138 

annihilated    him,    and    then    turned    away,    and   said 
quietly:    "Very  well,  then.     You  can  go." 

Coombe  threw  a  glance  at  him,  seemed  as  if  he  were 
going  to  say  something  further,  but  went  out  without  a 
word. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  QUESTION  OF  LABOUR 

So  that  was  how  William  had  taken  his  protest !  No 
word  to  him,  but  this — it  seemed  like  ill-tempered — 
order  to  put  an  end  to  the  work.  His  anger  was  hot 
against  Coombe,  whom  he  accused  in  his  mind  of  putting 
him  in  a  hole  for  the  sake  of  doing  so,  and  then  coming 
to  see  how  he  would  take  it.  But  towards  William  his 
feeling  was  more  one  of  sorrow. 

He  had  been  giving  him  credit  for  generosity  and 
kindly  feeling.  Surely  it  was  unworthy  of  him  to  be- 
have in  that  way,  even  if  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be 
unduly  annoyed  over  the  tone  of  the  protest  made 
to  him.  What  must  have  been  his  attitude  when 
he  sent  that  telegram  to  his  servant,  and  sent  no  word 
to  his  brother?  He  must  have  known  that  to  dismiss 
his  labourers  in  that  way  at  a  moment's  notice  would 
make  trouble- — trouble  that  would  affect  his  brother 
who  was  on  the  spot.  Yet  he  had  left  him  to  find  out 
the  high-handed  action  he  had  taken  for  himself.  Why 
couldn't  he  have  given  him  an  opportunity  of  withdraw- 
ing, if  he  really  thought  that  he  had  vetoed  the  under- 
taking, which  had  been  in  hand  for  a  week?  He 
couldn't  have  thought  that ;  the  letter  written  to  him 
was  not  a  prohibition. 

What  was  to  be  done  now?  If  that  confounded  fel- 
low Coombe  had  come  to  him  before  dismissing  the 

139 


men,  he  would  have  wired  to  William  and  put  it  all 
right.  Yes,  he  would  have  done  that,  pocketing  the 
hurt  to  his  dignity;  for  he  did  recognize  that  he  had 
given  some  cause  for  offence,  though  William  had  been 
in  the  wrong  to  take  it  in  the  way  he  had. 

Was  it  too  late  to  do  it  even  now?  It  was  he  who 
had  induced  the  word  to  be  given  that  had  stopped  the 
work,  and  it  was  for  him  to  give  the  word  for  it  to  go 
on.  It  was  simply  Coombe's  insolence  that  had  refused 
to  take  it  from  him.  Coombe  would  find  that  he  had 
overstepped  the  bounds ;  for  he  had  for  the  time  made 
it  impossible  to  take  tHe  course  that  his  master  must 
wish  to  have  taken.  If  matters  were  to  be  put  right,  it 
could  only  be  by  sending  a  long  telegram  to  William. 
He  began  to  formulate  it  in  his  mind.  He  must  say 
that  his  letter  had  not  meant  that  he  wished  the  work 
to  be  stopped ;  he  must  make  it  plain  that  he  wanted  it 
to  go  on ;  he  must  say  that  Coombe  had  already  dis- 
missed the  outside  labour  before  telling  him  of  the  orders 
he  had  received,  and  had  refused  to  take  orders  from 
him  to  re-engage  the  men.  It  would  be  best  to  get  Wil- 
liam to  wire  to  Coombe  to  act  upon  Colonel  Eldridge's 
authority  until  he  came  to  Hayslope  himself. 

It  would  be  a  complete  surrender  on  his  part ;  but  he 
was  ready  to  make  it.  The  mood  in  which  he  had  en- 
tered the  house  still  influenced  him ;  if  William  chose  to 
act  in  this  way  towards  him,  he  would  not  accept  it  as 
an  offence  without  giving  him  a  chance  to  alter  his  at- 
titude. They  could  have  it  out  together  when  they  met ; 
that  would  be  better  than  writing  letters,  which  were 
apt  to  be  misunderstood. 


A  QUESTION  OF  LABOUR  141 

He  had  sat  down  at  his  writing-table  to  compose  his 
message,  when  the  maid  came  in  and  said  that  some  men 
had  called  to  see  him.  Who  were  they?  One  was 
Jackson,  from  the  Brookside  cottages,  and  another  was 
Pegg,  from  Crouch  Lane.  There  were  two  more  whom 
she  didn't  know.  She  was  told  to  show  them  in. 

Jackson  was  an  elderly  man  of  good  character  well 
known  to  Colonel  Eldridge,  who  had  employed  him  him- 
self for  some  years,  until  he  had  been  obliged  to  reduce 
his  labour  bill.  Pegg  was  a  younger  man,  who  had 
worked  on  various  farms,  and  since  the  war,  in  which 
he  had  been  wounded,  had  never  remained  long  in  one 
place,  because  his  small  pension,  and  the  greatly  in- 
creased wages  for  agricultural  labour,  had  enabled  him 
to  indulge  his  taste  for  occasional  spells  of  leisure.  The 
other  two  men  were  younger  still,  and  one  of  them  wore 
a  discoloured  khaki  tunic.  Colonel  Eldridge  did  not 
know  either  of  them,  but  a  shrewd  glance  told  him  that 
they  were  of  the  agricultural  labourer  class,  probably 
smartened  up  a  bit  by  their  military  service.  They 
stood  before  him,  Jackson  slightly  in  advance. 

"  Well,  Jackson !  Well,  Pegg !  Hope  your  leg  has- 
n't been  giving  you  any  more  trouble.  Who  are  these 
two?  " 

The  man  in  the  khaki  tunic  answered  for  himself, 
smartly.  "  Thomas  Dell,  Colonel,  late  of  Second  Bat- 
talion Downshire  Regiment."  The  other  followed  suit. 
"  Albert  Chambers,  Colonel,  late  of  Army  Service 
Corps." 

He  asked  them  a  few  questions  about  themselves. 
They  had  served  their  country ;  the  soldier  in  him  must 


142    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

pay  tribute  to  that  first  of  all.  They  could  be  seen  ex- 
panding in  modest  pride,  as  they  exercised  the  mode  of 
address  they  had  learnt  in  the  orderly  room,  standing 
before  their  officers  as  they  now  stood  before  him.  He 
approved  of  them.  Men  who  had  served  unwillingly  in 
the  army  and  taken  their  discharge  would  not  have 
answered  him  in  that  way. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  you  want?     Jackson  !  " 

"  We  were  took  on  at  Mr.  William's,  beg  your  par- 
don, Sir  William's,  sir,  and  now  we're  turned  off.  It 
don't  seem  hardly  fair,  and  we  thought  we'd  come  to 
you  about  it." 

"  How  were  you  taken  on  ?     By  the  week  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     But— " 

"  Coombe  has  just  been  here,  and  told  me  that  you've 
had  a  week's  wages  instead  of  notice.  So  there's  nothing 
unfair  in  it." 

*'  Well,  sir,  we  were  told  that  it  would  be  a  two 
month's  job.  That's  what  Coombe  told  us." 

"  Coombe  took  you  on,  I  suppose ;  not  Sir  William  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     It  was  like  this — " 

"  I've  just  heard  all  about  it  from  Coombe.  There 
has  been  a  mistake.  When  you  came  in,  I  was  just 
about  to  telegraph  to  Sir  William.  What  you'd  better 
do  is  to  wait  till  I  get  an  answer,  and  I've  no  doubt  that 
to-morrow  you'll  be  going  on  where  you  left  off.  You'll 
have  had  a  day's  holiday  at  full  pay,  and  you  won't  have 
anything  to  grumble  at,  eh  ?  " 

He  said  this  with  a  smile.  He  liked  old  Jackson,  and 
had  often  stopped  to  have  a  word  with  him,  when  he  had 
been  employed  on  estate  work,  mending  a  fence,  clearing 


A  QUESTION  OF  LABOUR 

a  drain,  or  whatever  job  it  might  be  that  had  to  do  with 
the  land  on  which  he  had  worked  since  boyhood.  He 
was  full  of  homely  wisdom ;  a  true  son  of  the  soil,  with 
few  desires  that  were  not  connected  with  it.  Such  men 
appeal  to  the  fatherly  instinct  that  is  born  in  the  best 
type  of  landowner  towards  those  dependent  on  him. 
Their  simplicity  must  be  respected ;  their  reliance  upon 
the  justice  of  their  "  betters  "  must  be  met  by  the  most 
careful  consideration  of  their  troubles. 

Old  Jackson  hesitated.  "  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "  beg- 
ging your  pardon,  we're  not  wishful  to  take  on  work 
again  under  Coombe.  Sir  William,  he'd  always  treat 
us  right,  same  as  you  would,  if  he  wasn't  too  occupied 
to  look  after  things  himself,  as  I've  told  these  others 
who've  been  working  along  of  us.  Pegg'll  bear  me  out 
there." 

Pegg  bore  him  out,  with  a  mumble  of  acquiescence, 
and  Colonel  Eldridge  waited  for  him  to  go  on. 

"  Coombe  don't  come  from  these  parts,"  said  old 
Jackson,  and  came  to  a  stop. 

"  That's  nothing  against  him,  if  he  acts  as  he  should. 
What's  the  complaint  against  him?  " 

But  Jackson  had  come  to  the  end  of  his  powers  of 
expression.  He  could  only  repeat :  "  He  don't  come 
from  these  parts." 

Dell,  in  the  khaki  jacket,  took  up  the  tale.  "  He's 
desirous  of  making  mischief,  sir.  We  were  told,  after 
you  came  down  the  other  morning,  that  there'd  be 
trouble  about  the  work  we  were  doing,  and  if  we  were 
turned  off  of  a  good  job  we'd  better  look  to  you  for 
another  one." 


144 

Colonel  Eldridge  had  not  expected  anything  of  this 
sort.  But  he  was  sitting  in  the  seat  of  justice  now, 
and  the  bearing  of  such  a  statement  on  himself  must 
wait  for  consideration  until  later. 

"Who  was  that  said  to?  Tell  me  the  exact  words 
that  were  said." 

Old  Jackson  found  his  tongue  again.  "  That's  how 
it  was,  sir,"  he  said.  "  There  was  me  and  Pegg  heard 
it,  and  Dell,  and  another  who  ain't  here.  I  up  and  said 
myself  that  he'd  no  call  to  talk  like  that  of  you,  and 
whatever  Mr.  William  done  with  his  land  you'd  stand 
by." 

"  You  were  quite  right  there,  of  course.  Was  there 
anything  more  said,  or  only  just  that  speech?  " 

"  He  told  me  to  go  on  with  my  work  and  not  sauce 
him  back,  or  I  could  lay  down  my  tools  and  take  myself 
off.  I  ain't  used  to  being  talked  to  in  that  way,  sir; 
and  Coombe  don't  belong  to  these  parts." 

"  He  told  Warner,  one  of  the  other  men  took  on,  sir, 
that  you  didn't  like  Sir  William  having  more  money  nor 
what  you've  got — begging  your  pardon  for  reporting 
his  true  words — and  that  if  you  could  stop  the  work 
what  we  was  engaged  on,  you'd  do  it." 

This  was  from  Chambers,  the  other  ex-soldier,  and 
Dell  added :  "  That's  right,  sir.  And  he  said  we  could  see 
for  ourselves  that  you  were  looking  ugly  about  it, 
and  meant  mischief." 

"  That's  enough.  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  in- 
solent speeches.  If  you've  just  come  to  repeat  that 
sort  of  thing  to  me,  I'd  rather  you  had  let  it  alone. 
Jackson  and  Pegg  are  my  tenants,  though  neither  of 


A  QUESTION  OF  LABOUR  145 

them  work  for  me.  I  dare  say  they  wouldn't  like  to 
stand  by  and  let  that  go  on  without  speaking  up.  But 
it  would  have  been  better  to  report  it  to  Sir  William, 
instead  of  to  me.  I  don't  see  what  it  has  to  do  with 
you  two  at  all." 

They  showed  some  surprise  at  that,  for  his  anger  was 
plain  to  see,  and  his  gaze  was  directed  straight  at  them. 
"  I've  told  you,"  he  said  to  Jackson,  "  that  I  was  on  the 
point  of  wiring  to  Sir  William  to  ask  him  to  give  in- 
structions to  Coombe  to  proceed  with  the  work.  That 
would  have  meant  taking  you  all  on  again.  If  you 
don't  want  to  be  taken  on,  I  can't  do  anything  more  for 
you." 

Old  Jackson  seemed  to  have  nothing  further  to  say, 
and  the  two  ex-soldiers  were  still  under  the  influence 
of  the  rebuke  administered  to  them.  It  was  Pegg  who 
spoke,  with  a  preparatory  clearing  of  the  throat. 
"  Jackson  said  you  was  thinking  of  mending  the  road 
through  the  park,  sir." 

"  Mending  the  road !  " 

"  It  wants  doing,"  said  Jackson,  speaking  now  in 
quite  a  different  tone,  as  an  expert,  whose  word  carries 
weight.  "  It  wants  doing  bad.  Put  it  off  any  longer 
and  'twill  mean  laying  a  new  foundation  here  and  there, 
and  steam-rolling  and  all,  when  take  it  in  time  and  a 
bit  of  metal  will  serve.  There's  a  hole  by  the  three 
oaks  that  never  ought  to  been  allowed  to  get  so.  You 
can  maybe  patch  it  up  to-day,  but  I  wouldn't  answer 
for  what  you  could  do  wi£h  it  to-morrow.  Nothing's 
been  done  to  the  road  for  a  matter  of  five  years  or 
more." 


146        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  You  may  call  it  six,"  said  Colonel  Eldridge.  "  It 
was  mended  last  in  the  winter  before  the  war,  and  it 
was  mostly  your  doing,  Jackson." 

"  Yes,  sir.  And  there  was  a  tidy  bit  of  metal  got 
out  of  the  lower  quarry  what  we  didn't  use  all  of.  You'd 
only  have  to  break  it  up  and  lead  it ;  and  lead  some 
gravel  to  put  on  it.  'Tis  true  that  I  did  say  to  Pegg 
and  these  two  that  us  four  'ud  make  a  good  job  of  it 
in  four  weeks,  maybe  five — I  wouldn't  undertake  not  to 
make  a  tidy  job  of  it  in  less.  Put  it  off  and  it'll  take 
longer." 

Colonel  Eldridge  sat  considering,  his  eyes  on  the 
papers  in  front  of  him.  "  What  about  the  other  two 
who  were  taken  on  at  the  Grange  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  They've  gone  off,  sir,"  said  Dell.  "  They  didn't 
like  the  job,  and  wouldn't  have  stayed  anyhow." 

"They  have  gone  off?  They're  not  hanging  about 
the  village  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  They  took  their  money,  and  went  off 
by  train  to  Southampton  where  they  belong  to  the 
docks." 

"  Where  are  you  two  lodging?  " 

They  told  him,  and  he  made  no  comment,  except  to 
say:  "If  I  take  you  on,  you'll  have  to  work  under 
Jackson,  and  you'll  have  to  keep  quiet  in  the  village. 
A  glass  or  two  at  the  inn  I  don't  mind,  but  we  never 
have  any  trouble  with  drink  at  Hayslope,  and  I  would- 
n't put  up  with  it." 

Chambers  looked  scandalized,  and  asserted  himself 
to  be  a  teetotaller.  Dell  said :  "  I'm  a  respectable  man, 
Colonel,  and  if  anybody's  been  putting  it  about  that 


A  QUESTION  OF  LABOUR  147 

I'm  otherwise  that  man's  a  liar,  begging  your  pardon 
for  the  language." 

"  Very  well.  I  accept  what  you  say.  I'll  take  the 
four  of  you  on  from  to-morrow,  by  the  week.  What 
wages  were  you  getting  at  the  Grange?  " 

They  told  him,  and  he  said  they  were  too  high.  "  You 
know  that,  Jackson.  Wages  have  gone  up  enormously. 
I  don't  grudge  them  to  men  like  you,  who  do  your  work 
as  it  ought  to  be  done.  But  I'm  not  going  to  pay  more 
than  the  current  rate.  If  Coombe  took  you  on  at  the 
Grange  at  the  rate  you  say,  he  ought  not  to  have  done 
it." 

They  expressed  themselves  in  their  various  ways  as 
satisfied  with  what  he  offered  them,  and  old  Jackson 
said :  "  Who  am  I  to  take  my  orders  from,  sir,  now 
Bridger  has  gone?  " 

"  You'll  take  them  from  me.  I'm  my  own  bailiff  now. 
Meet  me  in  half  an  hour  at  the  three  oaks,  and  I'll  settle 
with  you  what's  to  be  done." 

He  wanted  a  little  time  for  consideration,  and  when 
the  men  had  filed  out  of  the  room  and  left  him  alone,  he 
rose  and  walked  up  and  down,  as  his  habit  was  when  he 
had  to  think  anything  out. 

He  wanted  to  be  quite  sure  that  he  had  done  right. 
The  cost  of  these  repairs  would  be  heavy,  but  the  state 
of  the  drive  would  not  admit  of  much  further  delay,  as 
old  Jackson  had  said,  unless  it  were  to  become  almost 
impassable  here  and  there,  and  involve  a  larger  expendi- 
ture later  on.  He  had  been  ashamed  of  it  only  half  an 
hour  before,  when  Lord  Crowborough  had  turned  off  on 
to  the  grass  of  the  park  to  escape  the  worst  place,  and 


shown,  by  making  no  comment  on  it,  that  he  knew  why  it 
had  been  left  as  it  was.  He  was  rather  relieved  at  having 
had  his  hand  forced  about  it,  for  it  didn't  do  to  shirk 
making  necessary  repairs  out  of  unwillingness  to  spend 
money  on  them  at  the  right  time.  Only  bad  landlords 
did  that,  and  they  suffered  for  it  in  the  long  run.  The 
cost  would  be  inconvenient  at  this  moment,  but  it  could 
be  met.  Jackson  would  do  the  work  thoroughly,  and 
he  was  glad  to  have  the  old  fellow  back  in  his  employ. 
It  might  even  be  worth  while  to  keep  him  on,  for  now 
that  he  had  got  rid  of  his  bailiff  there  was  nobody  to 
whom  he  could  delegate  any  overseeing,  and  he  was  more 
tied  than  he  wanted  to  be.  Pegg  was  a  bit  of  a  rolling 
stone,  but  would  keep  up  to  the  mark  as  long  as  the 
job  lasted.  The  other  two  seemed  good  sort  of  men, 
and  would  probably  do  as  well  as  any. 

All  that  was  satisfactory  enough;  but  it  wanted 
thinking  about  as  it  affected  his  relations  with 
William. 

The  idea  of  wiring  to  him  in  the  terms  he  had  intended 
must  be  given  up.  That  had  settled  itself,  for  the 
extra  labour  he  had  employed  was  no  longer  available. 
Two  of  the  men  had  gone  off,  and  the  other  four  had 
refused  to  continue  with  it.  That  was  Coombe's  fault, 
without  any  question.  He  had  always  suspected  that 
fellow  of  being  a  mischief-maker,  and  now  he  stood  re- 
vealed. The  report  with  which  he  had  come  to  him  had 
been  immediately  proved  to  be  absolutely  groundless. 
Of  the  men  of  whom  he  had  professed  to  be  so  suspicious 
that  it  was  necessary  to  come  and  give  a  warning — for 
the  good  name  of  the  village — two  belonged  to  it — which 


A  QUESTION  OF  LABOUR  149 

he  didn't — and  were  well  known,  two  had  already  left  it, 
and  from  the  other  two  there  was  nothing  to  fear.  The 
impudent  readiness  with  which  he  had  turned  the  few 
questions  of  the  other  morning  into  a  mischievous  attack 
showed  him  for  what  he  was.  Colonel  Eldridge  hardly 
felt  indignation  on  account  of  it.  The  man  had  given 
himself  away,  and  was  as  good  as  done  with.  What- 
ever their  differences,  William  would  never  keep  in  his 
employ  a  man  who  had  misbehaved  in  that  way. 

Coombe  was  so  patently  the  fount  and  origin  of  the 
break-up  that  had  come  upon  William's  plans  that  it 
was  a  little  difficult  to  go  back  to  what  had  given  him  his 
handle.  When  he  turned  his  mind  to  it,  he  experienced 
a  droop  of  spirit.  It  was  his  protest  that  had  started 
the  trouble,  and  he  had  no  inclination  to  shirk  that  fact, 
though  it  was  also  true  that  if  William  had  not  received 
it  in  the  spirit  he  had,  no  harm  would  have  been  done. 
He  had  some  effort  to  put  himself  in  William's  place, 
and  did  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  he  had  probably 
not  received  his  letter  until  his  return  from  his  visit 
that  morning,  and  that  he  had  probably  written  in 
answer  to  it,  which  answer  he  would  receive  the  next 
morning.  That  softened  the  effect  of  his  peremptory 
order,  but  by  no  means  justified  it;  for  unless  he  had 
intended  to  show  his  annoyance  by  it,  he  would  surely 
have  sent  him  a  wire  at  the  same  time. 

The  result  of  his  cogitations  was  that  nothing  could 
be  done  then  to  mend  the  matter.  He  must  wait  to  see 
if  there  was  a  letter  from  William,  and,  whether  there 
was  or  not,  it  would  be  better  to  write  no  more  letters, 
but  to  wait  further  until  William  came  down  on  Friday 


150         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

evening,  which  he  usually  did.  The  garden  should  be 
made  somehow,  with  another  than  Coombe  to  direct  it. 
He  wanted  to  see  the  garden  made  now,  almost  as  much 
as  William  did. 

He  went  out  and  made  the  arrangements  with  old 
Jackson,  and  then  again  returned  to  the  house,  slowly, 
and  with  very  different  thoughts  from  those  which  had 
borne  him  company  on  the  same  road  an  hour  before. 
He  did  not  want  to  think  any  more  about  the  un- 
pleasantness that  had  come  upon  him.  No  doubt  it 
would  work  itself  out,  but  he  did  not  feel  that  he  was 
free  of  it  yet.  And  the  vision  of  the  larger  freedom 
that  had  come  to  him  had  faded.  He  was  in  no  mind  now 
to  go  to  William  and  ask  him  for  the  money  that  would 
settle  all  his  difficulties. 

After  supper,  which  had  taken  the  place  of  dinner 
at  Hay  slope  Hall  on  these  long  summer  evenings,  he 
walked  with  his  wife  in  the  garden,  and  told  her  of  what 
had  happened. 

She  was  more  disturbed  than  he  had  been  over  Wil- 
liam's telegram  to  Coombe,  and  his  failure  to  communi- 
cate at  the  same  time  with  him.  "  You're  sure  you 
didn't  actualty  forbid  him  to  go  on?  "  she  asked. 

Yes,  he  was  quite  sure;  but  in  answer  to  a  further 
question  he  could  not  declare  with  such  certaint}^  that 
he  had  not  written  in  a  -way  that  could  arouse  annoy- 
ance. "  I'm  afraid  I  did  express  myself  rather 
strongly,"  he  admitted.  "  But  I  always  have  said 
straight  out  what  I  meant  to  William,  and  he  has  never 
taken  it  like  this.  Besides,  my  impression  is  that  I 
showed  him,  in  what  I  wrote  afterwards,  that  I  didn't 


A  QUESTION  OF  LABOUR  151 

mean  it  seriously — or  not  so  seriously  as  all  that.  I 
intended  to,  anyhow." 

"  Ah !  "  she  sighed.  "  You  ought  to  have  shown  me 
the  letter  before  you  sent  it.  I  could  have  told  you 
whether  it  was  right  or  not.  I  wonder  if  Eleanor  saw 
this  telegram  before  William  sent  it !  I'm  sure  to  hear 
from  her  to-morrow,  and  I  think  you  are  sure  to  h^ar 
from  William." 

"  William  ought  not  to  have  done  it,"  he  said,  in  a 
tone  of  finality.  "  I  can't  think  that  he  would  have 
behaved  like  this  a  few  years  ago." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  of  course  he  wouldn't." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  "  he  asked  in  some  surprise. 

"  It's  quite  plain,  isn't  it  ?  William  was  nobody  much 
then,  compared  to  you.  Now  he  is  a  notable,  and  ex- 
pects to  be  treated  as  such." 

"  He  has  never  ghown  that  he  expected  us  to  treat 
him  any  differently." 

"  Oh,  as  long  as  we  keep  our  places,  and  don't  pre- 
sume." 

He  did  not  smile  at  this.  **  I  didn't  know  you  felt 
like  that  about  him,"  he  said.  "  You  don't  about  Elea- 
nor, do  you  ?  " 

"  No.  Eleanor  has  a  more  level  head.  I  haven't 
really  much  fault  to  find  with  William  either.  I  was 
only  laughing  at  him.  One  does  laugh  at  people  who 
go  up  in  the  world,  and  show  themselves  so  delighted 
with  it,  doesn't  one?  It's  the  best  way  to  take  them, 
especially  if  you're  not  going  up  in  the  world  yourself. 
Or  perhaps  it  isn't  the  best  way.  I'm  not  sure.  Per- 
haps it  shows  you're  a  little  jealous  of  them.  But  I'm 


152 

certainly  not  jealous  of  Eleanor,  and  I'm  sure  you're 
not  jealous  of  William.  Poor  William!  I'm  a  little 
sorry  for  him." 

"  Sorry  for  him  !  " 

"  Ye — es.  His  success  hasn't  improved  him.  I  don't 
like  him  as  well  as  I  did,  and  of  course  I'm  sorry  for 
the  people  I  don't  like,  just  as  I'm  rather  inclined  to 
envy  the  people  I  do  like.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think 
about  all  this  bother.  I  don't  believe  William  has  the 
slightest  intention  of  giving  up  his  garden.  He'll  ex- 
pect you  to  be  overcome  with  remorse  at  having  re- 
buked him,  and  beg  him  to  go  on.  What  does  it  matter 
to  him,  paying  six  men  a  week's  wages,  with  no  work 
done  for  it?  And  there's  no  hurry,  you  know.  They 
weren't  going  to  plant  in  any  case  until  October.  There 
will  be  plenty  of  time  to  get  new  men  to  work  at  it,  and 
get  it  finished  in  time." 

*'  Do  you  really  think  that  is  what  he  has  in  his  mind  ? 
Something  of  the  same  sort  occurred  to  me,  but  I  don't 
want  to  think  such  a  thing." 

"  Well,  dear,  you  had  much  better  follow  your  own 
ideas  about  it  than  mine.  You  can't  except  a  woman  to 
take  the  broad  view  of  something  that  touches  her  that 
a  man  can.  I  dare  say  you're  more  likely  to  be  right 
about  William  than  I  am.  You  have  always  treated 
him  with  great  forbearance,  and  until  now  you  have  kept 
good  friends  with  him." 

"  You  do  think  that — that  I've  treated  him  with  for- 
bearance? " 

She  stopped,  and  with  a  light  laugh,  looking  up  at 
him,  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders.  "  My  dear  kind- 


A  QUESTION  OF  LABOUR  153 

hearted  conscientious  old  man ! "  she  said.  "  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  think.  If  you  don't  make  a  stand  now, 
William  will  very  soon  be  everything  at  Hayslope,  and 
you  will  be  nothing." 


CHAPTER  XII 

NEW    IDEAS 

SUMMER  rain  was  falling  heavily,  and  a  little  party 
was  gathered  together  in  the  schoolroom  at  Hayslope 
Hall.  This  was  a  large  room  on  the  second  floor,  with 
windows  looking  two  ways,  one  on  to  the  park,  two  on 
to  the  garden  and  the  woods  beyond.  There  was  a 
glimpse  from  these  windows,  through  the  trees,  of  some 
of  the  roofs  and  chimneys  of  the  Grange  on  its  oppo- 
site hill ;  and  across  the  park  the  tower  of  the  church 
and  part  of  the  village  could  be  seen,  with  a  wide 
stretch  of  country  beyond,  and  Pershore  Castle  some 
miles  away,  to  give  accent  to  a  characteristic  scene  of 
wooded  undulating  country,  not  yet  tainted  with  the 
blight  of  industrialism.  It  was  sometimes  said  that 
this  old  nursery,  now  the  schoolroom,  was  the  nicest 
room  in  the  house.  There  were  no  such  views  to  be 
obtained  from  those  of  the  lower  floors,  but  the  views 
did  not  make  up  the  whole  of  its  charm.  It  had  that 
of  all  rooms  in  an  old  house  that  have  been  devoted  to 
the  use  of  children.  Changes  in  furniture  or  decora- 
tion come  to  them  slowly.  Everything  that  they  con- 
tain has  made  its  indelible  impression  upon  the  minds 
of  those  who  have  occupied  them  in  the  most  receptive 
years  of  their  lives,  and  are  woven  into  the  texture  of 
their  memories.  They  have  witnessed  the  troubles  of 
childhood;  but  these  fade  away  and  are  forgotten,  or 

154 


NEW  IDEAS  155 

remembered  only  as  part  of  the  immensely  significant 
and  varied  experiences  of  that  age,  merging  into  the 
rest  and  carry  no  sting.  They  do  not  associate 
themselves  with  graver  troubles,  and  to  those  who 
came  back  to  them  they  seem  to  be  a  refuge  from  all 
the  ills  of  life,  so  innocent  are  the  pursuits  with  which 
they  are  connected,  so  free  are  they  from  the  cares  and 
forebodings  associated  with  other  familiar  rooms. 

This  note  of  freedom  and  innocence  was  grateful  to 
Fred  Comfrey,  who  had  been  welcomed  to  this  room  by 
Alice  and  Isabelle,  its  present  occupants,  Miss  Baldwin 
acquiescing.  Fred  had  "  taken  notice  "  of  Alice  and 
Isabelle,  for  reasons  not  difficult  to  gauge.  He  had 
never  cared  much  for  children,  and  one  would  have 
said  that  he  had  no  power  to  interest  or  attract  theci. 
But  his  absence  of  art  probably  recommended  him  to 
these  two,  who  would  not  have  liked  him  so  well  if  he 
had  been  either  jocular  or  condescending  with  them. 
He  treated  them  in  the  same  way  as  he  treated  Judith, 
who  was  grown  up.  Judith  did  not  like  him,  but  they 
did,  and  presently  began  to  make  use  of  him. 

On  this  wet  Saturday  morning,  when  there  were  no 
lessons  to  be  done,  they  were  engaged  in  restoring  an 
old  toy  theatre,  which  had  once  belonged  to  Hugo. 
Alice  had  composed  a  play,  which  was  to  be  acted  by 
figures  designed  by  Isabelle.  These  had  been  cut  out 
with  a  fretsaw,  and  coloured;  and  together  they  had 
glued  them  on  to  their  stands.  But  the  theatre  itself, 
after  having  lain  hidden  for  years  in  a  lumber  room, 
needed  more  serious  repair  than  came  within  their 
scope.  Fred  was  a  godsend  in  this  predicament,  and 


156        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

was  doing  all  that  was  necessary,  with  a  capable  hand. 
Pamela  and  the  children  were  helping,  arrayed  all 
three  in  blue  overalls,  which  as  worn  by  Pamela  seemed 
to  Fred  to  be  the  most  attractive  costume  that  a  girf 
could  wear.  Miss  Baldwin  sat  apart,  busy  with  needle- 
work on  her  own  account.  Her  presence  had  no  effect 
upon  the  flow  of  chatter.  She  hardly  came  into  the 
children's  lives  except  as  a  reminder  and  concomitant 
of  duty,  and  they  were  well  accustomed  to  ignore  her 
when  amusement  was  on  foot.  Judith  also  sat  apart, 
curled  up  on  the  deep  shabby  old  sofa  with  a  book, 
and  oblivious  to  everything  around  her.  Her  enjoy- 
ment probably  was  enhanced  by  the  sense  of  being  in 
company,  or  she  would  have  betaken  herself  elsewhere. 

Miss  Baldwin,  however,  was  far  more  alive  to  what 
was  going  on  than  anybody  there  could  have  imagined. 
Unnoticed,  she  marked  every  look  and  every  word. 
For  romance  was  going  on,  here  under  her  very  eyes, 
and  she  could  fit  it  all  in  to  her  ideas  of  how  a  story 
of  romance  should  run. 

There  was  the  sweet  young  girl  brought  up  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  country  home,  untouched  as  yet  by 
the  wand  of  love;  there  were  two  men  eager  to  break 
the  spell  that  held  her;  and  one  of  them  was  a  lord. 
Pamela  had  no  idea  how  much  Miss  Baldwin,  prim  and 
plain  and  scholastic,  admired  her.  Judith  she  had 
taught  for  a  year,  and  Judith  was  just  a  schoolgirl 
to  her,  like  any  other,  although  she  was  now  grown  up, 
and  as  beautiful  in  her  way  as  Pamela.  Pamela  seemed 
to  her  the  very  type  of  well-born  maidenhood,  beauti- 
ful and  gay,  and  kind  and  gentle  in  her  speech  and 


NEW  IDEAS  157 

in  her  ways.  She  could  weave  stories  around  her,  and 
longed  for  the  time  when  the  suitors  should  come 
thronging.  Upon  Norman's  first  appearance  she  had 
cast  him  for  the  part  of  hero,  and  well  he  would  have 
filled  it  but  for  the  fact  of  his  cousinhood.  He  was 
young  and  gay  and  handsome  too,  and  a  soldier.  But 
she  soon  saw  him  as  taking  the  place  towards  the  girls 
of  their  brother,  who  had  been  killed.  He  might  come 
into  the  story  later,  but  not  as  a  suitor. 

Two  suitors  had  now  appeared  on  the  field,  almost 
at  the  same  time.  It  might  have  been  thought  that 
Miss  Baldwin  would  have  favoured  the  lord,  who,  upon 
his  first  appearance  at  Hayslope,  had  actually  ridden 
over  on  a  horse,  from  his  battlemented  castle — or 
rather  from  his  father's,  which  came  to  the  same  thing. 
But  Horsham  did  not  conform  to  her  ideas  of  a  lord, 
in  spite  of  the  horse  and  the  castle.  His  looks  were 
not  on  a  level  with  Pamela's,  and  though  he  had  youth 
on  his  side,  she  could  not  describe  it  to  herself  as  gal- 
lant youth.  He  had  addressed  himself  to  her  when  he 
had  first  lunched  at  Hayslope,  and  with  courtesy;  but 
it  had  been  to  ask  her  whether  she  thought  Edin- 
burgh or  Liverpool  had  the  more  easterly  aspect.  Sus- 
pecting some  sort  of  catch,  she  had  replied  coldly  in 
favour  of  Edinburgh,  and  it  had  appeared  that  she  was 
wrong.  That  didn't  matter ;  but  the  question  seemed 
unworthy  of  one  of  his  rank.  She  would  rather  that 
he  had  ignored  her,  as  the  meek  silent  drudge,  in  the 
family  but  not  of  it,  and  beneath  the  notice  of  such  as 
he.  He  seemed  to  be  well-meaning  and  well-educated 
— his  conversation  had  been  largely  geographical.  But 


158         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Miss  Baldwin  was  not  content  in  a  lord  with  qualities 
that  would  have  graced  a  schoolmaster. 

Did  she  then  favour  the  suit  of  Fred  Comfrey,  whose 
desires  lay  open  to  her?  She  did.  He  was  a  son  of  the 
vicarage,  who  had  gone  out  into  the  world  at  an  early 
age  to  carve  his  own  way  in  it ;  and  from  what  she 
had  heard,  he  seemed  to  some  extent  already  to  have 
carved  it.  He  had  given  up  everything  to  fight  in  the 
war,  had  fought  like  a  hero — as  far  as  she  knew — and 
received  honourable  wounds,  from  which  he  had  not 
yet  entirely  recovered.  His  square  ugly  face  and  his 
broad  frame  spelt  POWER.  If  he  was  not  quite  the 
strong  silent  man — for  he  talke*d  a  good  deal,  and 
rather  nervously — he  might  become  so,  under  trial. 
He  was  still  young,  though  he  had  done  so  much.  He 
paid  attention  to  her,  and  rather  embarrassed  her  by 
so  doing;  for  she  did  not  wish  to  be  talked  to  in  com- 
pany, having  little  to  say  in  reply.  But  his  reasons 
for  doing  so  were  obvious,  and  she  approved  of  them. 
If  she  could  have  brought  herself  to  tell  him  that  she 
saw  everything  and  wished  him  well,  her  tongue  might 
have  been  unloosed  in  a  way  to  surprise  him.  But  that, 
of  course,  was  impossible,  though  she  sometimes  played 
with  the  idea  of  the  unconsidered  governess  putting 
everything  right  by  a  bashfully  whispered  word  to  the 
ever-after-grateful  hero. 

She  did  more  than  play  with  the  idea  of  things  going 
wrong.  She  expected  and  longed  for  it,  but  only  as  a 
preliminary  to  their  eventually  going  right.  Nobody 
but  herself  seemed  yet  to  have  awakened  to  what  was 
going  on.  When  they  did,  who  could  doubt  that  it 


NEW  IDEAS  159 

would  be  the  lord  who  would  be  preferred  by  the  par- 
ents, and  the  other  who  would  be  sent  about  his  busi- 
ness— perhaps  with  contumely?  She  rather  hoped 
with  contumely,  for  then  he  would  have  an  opportunity 
of  showing  what  stuff  he  was  made  of,  and  it  would  be 
so  much  more  interesting.  Oh,  if  only  Pamela  could 
have  her  eyes  opened  before  the  discovery  came !  If  he 
had  made  no  impression  on  her,  she  would,  of  course, 
accept  his  dismissal  at  the  hands  of  her  parents  with 
complete  equanimity,  and  the  story  would  simply 
fizzle  out. 

That  was  why  Miss  Baldwin  watched  the  pair  of 
them  so  closely,  as  with  their  heads  almost  touching 
they  bent  over  their  common  task,  and  the  talk  flowed, 
with  never  a  ripple  that  she  could  discern  to  disturb 
it,  and  give  it  a  deeper  meaning.  There  were  signs  in 
liis  speech  and  looks  of  what  she  wanted  to  see,  but  she 
had  got  used  to  that  by  this  time.  It  was  like  carry- 
ing on  for  too  long  with  a  chapter  that  had  already 
told  its  tale.  She  wanted  the  next  one,  in  which  Pamela 
was  to  show  the  signs.  Sometimes  she  thought  it  might 
be  beginning;  but  it  never  did.  Pamela  had  not  even 
seen  yet  what  had  become  so  plain.  Her  friendliness 
could  not  be  misunderstood.  There  was  no  hint  of  self- 
consciousness  in  it;  or  if  Miss  Baldwin  sometimes 
thought  that  she  caught  a  hint  of  her  awakening,  it 
soon  died  away  again.  She  was  forced  to  believe  that 
Pamela  was  as  yet  fancy-free. 

But  here,  unexpectedly,  was  a  factor  introduced  into 
the  story  of  which  she  had  lost  sight.  Sitting  at  the 
window,  and  looking  up  just  at  the  right  moment,  she 


160    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

saw  Norman  come  out  into  the  garden,  from  the  wood 
which  lay  between  the  Hall  and  the  Grange.  He  was 
buttoned  up  at  neck  and  sleeves  in  a  rain-coat,  and  the 
brim  of  his  soft  felt  hat  was  pulled  down  over  his  face. 
He  carried  an  ash  sapling,  which  he  was  swishing 
about  as  if  he  were  conducting  an  orchestra.  In  im- 
agination he  may  have  been,  for  he  was  a  musical 
enthusiast.  He  was  walking  very  fast,  and  there  was 
something  in  his  appearance  that  appealed  to  Miss 
Baldwin's  imagination,  which  within  its  limits  had  the 
same  artistic  enthusiasm  as  his.  For  a  moment  he 
presented  himself  to  her  as  the  third  suitor,  whose 
success — after  vicissitudes  to  be  undergone — was  finally 
to  be  hoped  for.  But  the  idea  was  rejected  as  soon 
as  formulated.  There  was  no  story  in  it,  for  it  was 
difficult  to  see  where  the  vicissitudes  were  to  come  from. 
Besides,  the  cousinship  held.  She  could  not  see  Norman 
and  Pamela  as  lovers. 

There  was  material  for  Miss  Baldwin  in  Norman's 
first  meeting  with  Fred.  He  came  into  the  room  with 
a  breezy,  high-spirited  air,  which  changed  completely 
as  he  caught  sight  of  Fred  sitting  at  the  table,  intent 
upon  his  task,  with  Pamela's  head  very  near  to  his, 
and  Isabelle's  still  nearer.  Only  she  saw  this;  for  he 
had  burst  into  the  room  unannounced,  and  by  the  time 
heads  were  raised  his  expression  had  changed  again, 
though  not  to  that  of  eager  pleasure  with  which  he  had 
entered.  He  shook  hands  with  Fred,  if  not  cordially, 
with  no  marked  hostility,  and  said  a  few  words  to  him 
before  answering  the  inquiries  that  were  showered 
upon  him  by  the  others. 


NEW  IDEAS  161 

No,  they  had  not  meant  to  come  down  to  the  Grange 
this  week.  His  father  had  gone  to  stay  with  some  old 
duffer  who  wanted  to  talk  politics  with  him.  His 
mother  had  been  going  too,  but  wasn't  very  fit.  He 
had  turned  up  the  night  before  in  London,  and  per- 
suaded her  to  let  him  motor  her  down.  He  had  come 
to  ask  if  Aunt  Cynthia  and  Pamela  would  come  to 
luncheon. 

Miss  Baldwin's  eyes  were  on  the  strong  silent  man- 
to-be  during  this  passage.  He  did  not  quite  fulfil  her 
expectations,  for  he  looked  almost  as  if  he  were  ashamed 
at  having  been  caught.  This  might  mean  that  he 
knew  he  would  have  to  face  opposition  from  Pamela's 
cousin,  which  Miss  Baldwin  would  not  have  expected 
him  to  divine  at  so  early  a  stage.  But  she  would  have 
liked  him  to  hold  up  his  head  higher,  while  for  the 
moment  he  was  apart  from  the  centre  of  the  scene. 
The  silence  was  there,  but  not  the  strength;  he  looked 
merely  awkward. 

She  waited  until  attention  was  upon  him  again. 
Norman's  first  look  of  dislike  had  impressed  her,  and 
contained  promise  of  drama.  It  looked  as  if  these  two 
had  crossed  each  others'  path  before;  but  that  could 
hardly  be,  for  she  knew  by  this  time  that  Fred  had 
been  carving  his  way  to  fortune  in  foreign  climes  and 
had  not  for  years  visited  the  home-land.  They  had 
met  in  boyhood;  but  any  differences  of  opinion  they 
might  have  had  then  would  not  have  amounted  to  cross- 
ing each  other's  path.  She  came,  somewhat  reluctantly, 
to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  nothing  more  in  if 
than  what  she  expected ;  dislike  on  the  part  of  Pamela's 


162    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

relations  to  the  idea  of  her  being  wooed  by  the  vicar's 
-self-made  son,  when  once  they  woke  up  to  the  possi- 
bility of  such  a  thing.  Norman  had  apparently  woke 
up  to  it  instantly.  Of  that  she  gained  assurance,  as  he 
talked  to  Fred  about  his  experiences  in  the  war,  and 
other  matters,  in  a  way  unlike  his  usual  open  sociable 
manner  of  speech,  which  showed  plainly,  to  her  at  least, 
that  dislike  was  behind  it  all.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
Pamela  was  aware  of  the  hostility,  and  deprecated  it. 
She  helped  Fred,  and  pointed  for  him  the  modesty  of 
some  of  his  replies.  She  even  seemed  to  suggest  that 
he  should  be  included  in  the  invitation  to  luncheon ;  but 
Norman  did  not  respond  to  the  suggestion,  and  when 
she  went  off  to  find  her  mother  he  went  with  her,  as  if 
he  did  not  want  to  be  left  with  Fred;  and  when  he 
said  good-bye  to  him  he  made  no  proposal  of  their  meet- 
ing again.  His  attitude,  indeed,  was  so  significant  that 
even  the  children  noticed  it.  For  Alice  said :  "  Norman 
seems  to  have  something  on  his  mind.  I  don't  think 
he's  liking  us  as  much  as  usual."  And  Isabelle  added : 
"  Perhaps  he's  in  love.  It  takes  them  like  that,  doesn't 
it,  Miss  Baldwin?" 

Miss  Baldwin  made  a  suitable  reply,  to  the  effect 
that  Isabelle  should  go  on  with  what  she  was  doing, 
and  not  ask  silly  questions.  The  children,  of  course, 
knew  of  her  taste  for  fiction,  but  were  not  enough  in- 
terested in  her  to  make  it  the  subject  of  more  than  an 
occasional  allusion  of  this  sort,  with  which  she  could 
cope  by  assuming  her  role  of  instructress.  Fred  took 
his  departure  soon  afterwards.  Perhaps  he  had  some 
hope  of  coming  across  Pamela  in  another  part  of  the 


NEW  IDEAS  163 

house.  Perhaps  he  was  too  dispirited  to  go  on  with 
what  he  was  doing  with  Pamela  gone.  There  was  a 
marked  drop  in  his  air  of  contentment  during  the  short 
time  he  remained,  and  he  did  not  respond  to  the  chatter 
of  the  children  with  his  usual  complacency.  Oh,  no 
doubt  the  affair  was  in  train  of  development  now,  and 
a  new  chapter  might  fairly  be  said  to  have  begun. 

It  was  not  until  after  luncheon  that  Norman  and 
Pamela  were  alone  together.  Rain  was  still  falling, 
and  they  went  into  the  billiard-room,  but  did  not  imme- 
diately begin  the  game  which  they  usually  played  on 
such  occasions.  Norman  had  recovered  his  spirits, 
never  for  very  long  obscured,  but  his  first  words,  as  he 
shut  the  door  behind  him,  were :  "  I  say,  old  girl,  it 
was  rather  a  shock  to  find  that  fellow  making  himself 
at  home  with  you  this  morning.  I  don't  think  you 
ought  to  accept  him  into  the  bosom  of  the  family  in 
that  way.  Really,  he's  a  most  awful  outsider." 

Perhaps  Pamela  had  been  giving  the  subject  some 
consideration,  in  preparation  for  some  such  attack. 
She  affected  no  surprise  at  it,  but  said :  "  I  know  you 
don't  like  him.  I'm  not  particularly  anxious  that  you 
should,  or  I  might  have  been  annoyed  at  the  way  you 
treated  him  this  morning.  But  do  leave  us  alone  about 
him.  We're  going  to  be  nice  to  him  as  long  as  he  stays 
here.  Father  and  mother  want  us  to,  for  one  thing. 
Anyhow,  it's  nothing  to  do  with  you.  Now  tell  me 
about  Margaret." 

"Oh,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  Margaret  when  the  time 
comes.  It's  partly  what  I  came  down  for.  But,  Pam 
dear,  do  take  a  word  of  warning  about  that  fellow. 


164        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

It's  easy  enough  to  see  that  he's  trying  to  worm  him- 
self in.  It  isn't  exactly  his  technique,  you  know,  to 
play  the  kind  elder  to  children.  Of  course  it's  you  he's 
after.  Excuse  my  speaking  plainly,  but  I  do  know 
about  these  things.  It's  calculated  to  make  one  sick — 
the  idea  of  a  creature  like  that  making  up  to  you." 

She  replied,  with  slightly  heightened  colour,  but  in 
the  same  level  kindly  tone :  "  It's  awfully  sweet  of  you 
to  be  so  careful  about  me,  Norman  dear;  but  your 
vivid  imagination  is  running  away  with  you.  There's 
nothing  of  that  sort  going  on,  and  if  there  were  I 
could  deal  with  it  perfectly  well  myself." 

"  No,  you  couldn't,"  he  said  firmly.  "  You  think 
you  know  a  lot,  but  you  know  very  little.  You  don't 
know  anything  at  all  about  a  man  of  that  sort,  thank 
goodness!  Of  course  I  know  that  you're  ratty  at  my 
talking  about  it  at  all,  although  you  pretend  not  to  be. 
So  I  won't  go  on.  I've  given  you  my  warning,  and  if 
you're  wise  you'll  pay  attention  to  it." 

"  It's  very  sweet  of  you,  as  I  said  before ;  and  I'm 
not  in  the  least  ratty.  And  if  I  don't  know  something 
about  all  that  sort  of  thing  by  this  time,  I  ought  to, 
for  you  never  talk  about  anything  else.  Now  talk 
about  it  in  connection  with  Margaret." 

"  Ah !  You  are  ratty.  But  you  can't  make  me.  If 
my  wisdom  and  self-control  weren't  equal  to  my  per- 
ceptions, supported  by  a  life-time  experience,  I  should 
reiterate  my  warnings.  As  it  is,  I  stop  short — like 
that !  " 

He  gave  a  snap  of  his  fingers,  and  stood  staring  at 
her,  his  hand  lifted,  until  she  was  obliged  to  laugh. 


NEW  IDEAS  165 

"  You're  a  donkey,"  she  said.  "  Now  tell  me  about 
Margaret." 

"  Ah  !  Margaret !  "  he  said.  "  You  observe  that  I 
speak  with  a  lingering  intonation,  Pam.  It  represents 
the  tender  emotion  which  stirs  my  bosom  whenever  I 
utter  that  sweet  name.  But  unfortunately,  I  haven't 
seen  her  again;  I  have  only  been  feeding  on  her  mem- 
ory— her  sweet  and  ducal  memory." 

"  Oh,  then  that  means  that  you  have  seen  somebody 
else.  I  did  think  that  it  meant  something  at  last — not 
a  great  deal,  but  still  something.  Who  has  cut  her 
out?" 

"  Pam  dear,  how  crude  you  are !  I  should  say 
coarse  if  it  were  anyone  else.  Cut  her  out!  As  if 
anybody  could  cut  her  out!  No,  she  remains  the  one 
and  only.  Margaret !  Her  very  name  is  music.  But 
I  told  you,  didn't  I,  that  her  father  was  a  Duke?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  told  me  that.  It  is  one  of  the  few 
things  I  know  about  her — and  that  she's  a  sort  of  high- 
brow, though  not  devoid  of  good  looks." 

"  A  highbrow !  Sometimes  I  think  you've  no  soul, 
Pam.  Margaret  is  not  a  highbrow,  any  more  than  you 
are.  But  she  is  the  daughter  of  a  Duke;  and  it  has 
occurred  to  me  that  in  pursuing  the  daughter  of  a  Duke 
I  may  be  laying  myself  open  to  misconceptions." 

"  Yes,  I  see.  But  I  wish  you'd  come  to  the  point  and 
tell  me  who  the  other  girl  is." 

They  had  been  standing  by  the  window.  Norman 
turned  away,  and  said  in  a  different  voice :  "  Let's  sit 
down.  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

They  sat  on  a  sofa  by  the  fireplace.     Norman  lit  a 


166        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

pipe.     "  I  say,  Pam,  he  said,  "  did  you  ever  think  of 
Dad  as  a  sort  of  millionaire?" 

"  What  a  funny  question !  What  is  a  sort  of  mil- 
lionaire? I  suppose  I've  always  known  that  he  has 
plenty  of  money.  What  is  the  bearing  of  the  ques- 
tion?" 

"You  know  I've  been  having  a  week's  sail  on  the 
Broads,  with  a  couple  of  pals.  We've  had  a  topping 
time.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  later  on.  One  of  the  fel- 
lows was  Dick  Baskerville,  a  son  of  Lord  Ledbury, 
who's  Minister  for  something  or  other — I've  forgotten 
what — and  the  other  was  Eric  Blundell,  one  of  those 
blokes  who  seems  to  know  everybody  and  everything 
that's  going  on.  They  were  both  at  Eton  with  me,  and 
both  in  the  regiment.  Dick's  in  it  still,  and  Eric's  at 
Cambridge.  We'd  always  chaffed  each  other  about  our 
respective  anginas,  and  ..." 

"  What  do  you  mean — anginas  ?  " 
, "  Heart  troubles.  Both  of  them  had  tumbled  to 
Margaret,  and  brought  her  up  against  me.  I  didn't 
deny  the  soft  impeachers ;  in  fact  I  was  rather  pleased 
at  it.  When  your  time  comes,  you'll  see  how  that  works 
out.  But  by  and  by  they  began  to  talk  about  it  as  if 
it  were  something  quite  serious." 

"  Sweet  youths !  "  interpolated  Pam. 

"  Oh,  there  was  nothing  wrong  with  them.  I  mean 
that  they  began  to  talk  about  marriage,  and  the  right 
sort  of  match,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  I  should  have  thought  you'd  have  been  rather 
pleased  with  that." 

"Why?     Because  she's   the  daughter   of  a   Duke? 


NEW  IDEAS  167 

I  shouldn't  have  thought  you  would  have  taken  that 
line." 

He  looked  pained.  "  I  don't,  really,"  said  Pam  sooth- 
ingly. "Did  they?" 

"  Oh,  not  in  any  way  that  you  could  object  to.  I 
mean  they  wouldn't  have  thought  I  was  making  up  to 
her  because  of  that.  But — well,  the  long  and  the  short 
of  it  is  that  I  seemed  to  present  myself  to  their  minds 
as  the  son  of  a  man  who's  so  rich  that  I  can  afford  to 
make  up  to  anybody.  That's  what's  disturbing  me." 

She  bent  her  mind  to  it.  "  Really,  I  don't  quite  see," 
she  sai"d,  with  sympathy.  "  If  it  does  come  to  that — 
that  you  want  to  marry  her — wouldn't  it  make  it 
easier?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  should  be  glad  that  money  didn't  stand 
in  the  way.  But  I  don't  quite  like  it,  all  the  same. 
Dad  seems  to  be  quite  well  known,  as  a  man  who  has 
made  pots  of  money,  and  may  be  made  a  peer  himself, 
or  anything  he  likes — not  because  of  his  money — I 
don't  mean  that  exactly — but  because  he  has  made  him- 
self so  useful  to  them.  What  I  didn't  like  was  the  sort 
of  suggestion  that  he  made  a  pot  during  the  war.  I 
know  he  didn't,  and  I  told  them  so.  Of  course  they 
said  that  they  had  never  imagined  anything  of  that 
kind — seemed  shocked  at  the  very  idea.  But  I'm  pretty 
certain  that  the  idea  is  going  about,  and  I  don't  like 
it  a  bit.  Anyhow,  Pm  not  going  to  exhibit  myself  as  a 
joyous  young  bounder  who  thinks  he  can  do  anything 
he  likes  because  he's  the  son  of  a  rich  man.  I  don't 
believe  Dad  is  as  rich  as  all  that,  and  I  told  them  so. 
I  said  I  supposed  they  were  leading  up  to  asking  me 


168        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

to  back  bills  for  them.  We  left  it  on  that  note.  But 
it's  rather  disturbing,  isn't  it?  " 

"Not  very,  Norman  dear.  I  shouldn't  let  it  worry 
you.  /  know  perfectly  well  that  you'd  be  just  the  same 
if  Uncle  Bill  were  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse;  and 
everybody  would  be  just  as  pleased  to  see  you." 

"  Dear  old  girl !  You  know  that  I  shouldn't  found 
myself  on  money ;  but  everybody  doesn't.  I  shall  have 
to  be  a  bit  careful,  if  it's  really  like  that.  I  think  I 
shall  put  it  to  Dad  myself.  He's  not  like  that,  either. 
He  likes  work,  and  he's  made  a  big  success  of  it  because 
he's  so  clever,  and  sound.  It's  hard  luck  if  people 
have  got  hold  of  a  wrong  idea  of  him." 

"  You're  always  telling  me  that  I  know  nothing ;  but 
I  do  know  as  much  as  that — that  rich  people  are  apt 
to  be  misunderstood.  Still,  we  know  him,  so  what  does 
it  matter?  What  is  the  bearing  of  it  all  upon  Mar- 
garet?" 

"The  bearing  of  it  on  Margaret — name  that  melts 
my  very  heart-strings — is  that  I  shall  go  slow  for  a 
time,  and  see  how  things  turn  out.  If  she  weren't  a 
Duke's  daughter,  I  should  let  myself  rip.  As  it  is,  I'm 
not  so  sure." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

DISCUSSION 

LADT  ELDRIDGE  was  as  direct  in  her  speech  and  her 
ways  as  any  woman  could  be.  Yet  it  did  not  seem 
possible  to  her  to  embark  directly  upon  the  subject  of 
which  her  mind  was  full,  when  Norman  and  Pamela 
had  gone  off,  and  she  and  her  sister-in-law  were  left 
alone  together.  Clothes  were  the  topic  which  Mrs. 
Eldridge  seemed  eager  to  discuss,  and  as  if  it  were  the 
one  upon  which  she  had  only  been  waiting  to  unburden 
herself.  Lady  Eldridge  allowed  herself  to  drift  with 
the  stream,  until  some  landing-place  should  appear 
upon  which  she  could  set  her  foot.  She  was  used  to 
humouring  Cynthia  in  this  way,  who  was  not  easily 
diverted  from  any  subject  in  which  she  was  interested, 
though  she  would  pursue  it  with  many  amusing  twists 
and  turns,  and  never  made  her  longest  speeches  tire- 
some to  listen  to.  She  seemed  to  be  full  of  spirit  this 
afternoon,  and  made  Lady  Eldridge  laugh  more  than 
once,  though  she  was  increasingly  anxious  to  come  to 
terms  with  her  upon  the  question  which  must  surely  be 
disturbing  them  both  equally. 

For  nothing  had  been  heard  from  Hayslope  in  answer 
to  William's  letter.  Coombe  had  written  to  say  that  he 
had  paid  off  the  labour,  according  to  instructions,  and 
that  was  all.  She  had  summoned  him  that  morning 
oa  her  arrival  at  the  Grange,  about  plants  and  flowers 

160 


170         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

for  the  house,  and  he  had  volunteered  the  information 
that  most  of  the  men  who  had  been  working  at  the 
garden  had  been  taken  on  by  Colonel  Eldridge.  This 
had  given  her  an  unpleasant  shock,  but  she  had  made 
no  comment  upon  it  to  him,  nor  encouraged  him  to 
any  further  disclosures.  She  had  divined  from  his 
manner  that  he  was  hostile  to  her  brother-in-law,  and 
did  not  want  to  hear  about  what  had  been  happening 
from  him  first;  nor  to  let  him  see  that  she  knew 
nothing. 

At  last  she  found  an  opening.  "  Cynthia  dear," 
she  said,  "  I  must  talk  to  you  about  the  garden.  You 
must  remember  that  I  know  nothing  yet  of  what  has 
happened  since  William  wrote." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  did  not  lay  aside  the  light  manner  in 
which  she  had  been  carrying  on  the  conversation. 
"  Well,  dear,"  she  said,  "  if  you  must  talk  about  it  I 
suppose  you  must.  But  it's  such  a  tiresome  business 
altogether  that  I  should  have  thought  it  would  have 
been  better  to  leave  it  to  the  two  men.  If  they  are 
going  to  fall  out  about  such  a  thing,  I'm  sure  you  and 
I  needn't ;  and  of  course  they  will  come  together  again." 

Lady  Eldridge  thought  for  a  moment.  "  Of  course 
you  and  I  shan't  fall  out  about  it,"  she  said  with 
decision.  "  But  it  must  have  gone  a  good  deal  farther 
than  it  ought  to  have  done  for  you  to  think  of  such  a 
thing.  Why  didn't  Edmund  answer  William's  letter?  " 

"  Well,  there's  no  difficulty  in  answering  that.  His 
first  letter  to  William  seemed  to  have  been  so  misun- 
derstood that  he  thought  it  better  not  to  write  any 
more,  but  to  wait  till  he  came  down.  Of  course  he 


DISCUSSION  171 

didn't  know  that  he  wasn't  coming  down  this  week,  or 
perhaps  he  texndd  have  written.  I  think  he  was  quite 
right,  you  know.  I  advised  him  myself,  when  he  wrote 
first  of  all,  not  to  show  irritation.  I'm  afraid  the 
poor  old  darling  must  have  done  so,  and  unfortunately 
he  didn't  show  me  what  he  had  written  before  he  sent 
it.  Oh,  I  think  it's  so  much  better  not  to  write  letters 
which  may  be  misunderstood.  I  didn't  answer  yours 
for  the  same  reason,  though  I  know  you  wouldn't  mis- 
understand. Well,  perhaps  that  wasn't  quite  the  rea- 
son. I  didn't  want  to  mix  myself  up  in  it." 

Lady  Eldridge's  spirits  had  lightened  during  the 
course  of  this  speech.  "I'm  so  glad  it  was  like  that," 
she  said.  "  I  thought  it  must  have  been  something  of 
the  sort.  But  do  you  mean  that  Edmund  didn't  want 
William  to  give  up  making  the  garden?  " 

"  Of  course  he  didn't.  He  only  thought  he  ought  to 
have  been  consulted  first.  I'm  bound  to  say  I  thought 
he  had  been,  and  I  told  him  so.  I  was  as  much  in  it 
as  you  were,  in  a  sort  of  way.  I  was  interested  in  the 
scheme,  as  you  know.  /  certainly  didn't  want  it  given 
up,  and  I  was  disappointed  when  William  threw  it  all 
over." 

"  But — Edmund  did  object,  you  know ;  and  pretty 
strongly.  I  saw  his  letter.  William  felt  that  he  couldn't 
go  on,  in  the  face  of  that." 

"  Ye — es.  But  Edmund  would  have  told  him  that 
he  hadn't  meant  him  to  stop,  if  he  had  been  given  the 
chance.  Men  do  act  hastily  when  they  are  a  little 
upset  with  one  another ;  but  it  was  a  pity  that  William 
took  up  the  attitude  he  did,  I  think.  With  just  a  little 


178         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

consideration  for  Edmund's  feelings  the  trouble  would 
have  blown  over  entirely.  Now  I'm  afraid  there  is  quite 
a  lot  to  put  straight,  and  it  has  tried  Edmund  very 
much." 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  Cynthia.  William  wired  at 
once  to  have  the  work  stopped,  according  to  what  he 
thought  were  Edmund's  wishes.  It  was  a  good  deal  to 
do  under  the  circumstances,  and  what  could  he  have 
done  more?  Surely,  Edmund  could  easily  have  put  it 
all  straight  by  wiring  back  that  William  had  misunder- 
stood him,  and  then — " 

"  Wiring  back,  dear !  William  didn't  wire  to 
Edmund.  He  took  no  notice  of  Edmund  at  all.  The 
first  Edmund  knew  was  that  Coombe  came  to  tell  him 
that  he  had  dismissed  the  men.  After  that  what  could 
he  do?" 

"  What  he  seems  to  have  done  was  to  take  the  men 
on  himself." 

"  I'm  rather  sorry  he  did  do  that,  because  of  course 
he  can't  afford  it,  and  it  will  only  add  to  his  worries, 
poor  dear!  Still,  there  they  were  dismissed  at  a 
moment's  notice,  in  a  fit  of  temper,  you  might  say, 
and—" 

"  Oh,  TIO,  Cynthia.  It  wasn't  so.  You  mustn't  say 
that." 

"  My  dear  child,  we  must  be  reasonable  on  both  sides 
if  we  are  to  talk  it  over  at  all.  I've  admitted  quite 
frankly  on  my  part  that  Edmund  was  hasty  in  what 
he  first  wrote  to  William,  and  you  ought  to  admit  on 
yours  that  William  acted  in  the  same  way." 

"  But,  Cynthia  dear,  I  know.    William  was  annoyed, 


DISCUSSION  173 

but  after  he  had  talked  it  all  over  he  got  rid  of  his 
annoyance.  I  know  that  it  had  passed  when  he  wrote." 

"  Very  well,  then.  But  if  that  is  so  you  must  admit 
that  he  took  an  unfortunate  way  of  showing  it.  To 
dismiss  the  men  off-hand  by  wire,  to  let  Edmund  hear  of 
it  first  from  Coombe,  and  then — " 

"  I  do  admit  that  that  was  unfortunate.  I'm  quite 
sure  that  it  never  occurred  to  him — it  didn't  to  me — 
that  it  would  look  as  if — " 

"  And  then  his  letter  the  next  morning !  That  put 
Edmund's  back  up  more  than  anything." 

Lady  Eldridge  threw  out  her  hands  in  a  gesture  of 
despair.  "  Oh,  I  give  it  up,"  she  said.  "  Everything 
seems  to  have  been  taken  in  the  wrong  way.  I  do 
think  that  two  brothers  who  have  been  so  much  to  each 
other  as  Edmund  and  William  ought  to  be  able  t6 
settle  an  absurd  dispute  of  this  sort  without  all  this 
misunderstanding." 

"  That's  exactly  what  I  think.  And  if  you  and  I  are 
to  mix  ourselves  up  in  it  at  all,  we  ought  to  try  to 
clear  up  the  misunderstandings." 

"Yes,  I  want  to  do  that.  Tell  me  why  William's 
letter  should  have  put  Edmund's  back  up  more  than 
anything." 

"  It's  rather  difficult,  you  see.  You  mustn't  be  impa- 
tient with  me.  You  know  that  I  am  very  fond  of 
William,  but  you  can't  expect  me  to  see  him  in  quite 
the  same  light  as  you  do,  any  more  than  you  can  see 
Edmund  in  the  same  light  as  I  do.  And  you  must  re- 
member that  I'm  trying  to  make  peace  all  the  time. 
Still,  I  see  things  with  Edmund's  eyes  to  some  extent, 


174         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

and  after  what  had  happened  the  day  before  I  don't 
think  it  was  unreasonable  of  him  to  object  to  being  told 
in  so  many  words  that  William  couldn't  be  expected  to 
take  seriously  things  that  he  thought  so  important, 
especially  Hayslope,  which  was  only  a  very  small  cor- 
ner of  the  world." 

"  Oh,  Cynthia,  what  an  absurd  coil  it  all  is ! 
William  can't  have  written  that.  I  know  the  mood  he 
was  in  when  he  went  away  to  write." 

"  Well,  dear,  he  did  write  it,  and  you  must  forgive 
me  for  saying  that  that  attitude  in  him  is  continually 
coming  out.  This  bother  about  flie  garden  is  only  a 
symptom  of  it.  It  is  the  attitude  itself  that  so  annoys 
Edmund.  I  know  that  William  is  much  higher  up  in 
the  world  now  than  my  poor  old  man.  But  he  ought 
not  to  want  to  rub  it  in,  Eleanor.  After  all,  Edmund 
is  the  older  brother,  and  the  head  of  the  family.  You 
can't  defend  William  telling  him  that  Hayslope  is  of 
very  little  importance.  It's  all  he  has  in  the  world. 
Poor  dear,  he  did  his  duty  as  a  soldier  during  the  war. 
I'm  not  saying  he  did  more  than  William;  but  just  look 
at  the  difference  in  the  rewards  they  have  got !  Edmund 
will  be  a  poor  man  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  because  of 
the  war,  while  William  is  rich  and  honoured." 

"  He  isn't  rich  because  of  the  war." 

"  Oh,  no !  I  don't  mean  that  at  all.  I  should  never 
say  such  a  thing,  or  think  it.  And  as  for  his  knight- 
hood, one  knows  that  honours  are  given  to  the  men 
who  do  the  sort  of  work  that  he  did,  while  a  soldier's 
work  is  just  taken  as  a  matter  of  course.  You  know 
that  it  would  never  occur  to  me  to  feel  jealousy  on  thai 


DISCUSSION  175 

score,  which  is  why  I  can  put  it  quite  plainly.  Edmund 
doesn't  feel  it  either,  and  he  is  proud  of  William's  suc- 
cess ;  he  has  often  said  so.  But  still,  here,  Edmund 
ought  not  to  be  considered  of  less  account  than  William. 
There !  I  have  said  it  quite  plainly,  and  you  mustn't 
be  offended." 

"  No,  I'm  not  offended ;  though  it  makes  me  rather 
sad  that  all  that  should  have  to  be  said,  because  it  is 
practically  the  same  as  William  says  himself,  and  tries 
to  act  upon.  He  did  so  in  this  very  matter  of  the  gar- 
den ;  but  see  how  it  has  turned  out !  Edmund  takes  it 
as  an  offence  that  he  should  instantly  have  carried  out 
what  he  thought  were  his  wishes." 

"  But  did  he  really  mean  to  give  up  the  garden, 
Eleanor?  I  will  tell  you  frankly  now,  as  we  have  gone 
so  far,  that  Edmund's  idea  is  that  he  hoped  he  would 
beg  him  not  to.  You  wrote  to  me,  you  know,  asking  me 
to  influence  Edmund  to  do  that." 

"Not  quite,  Cynthia.     At  least — well — " 

"  You  did,  dear ;  and  I  should  have  tried  to  make  the 
peace  in  that  way,  if  it  hadn't  gone  so  far.  I'm  afraid 
you  must  admit  that  William  acted  hastily — I  don't 
say  more  than  that — and  if  he  did  expect  Edmund  to 
climb  down,  as  Edmund  believes — well,  that's  just  ex- 
actly the  spirit  that  I've  been  trying  to  point  out  to 
you  is  so  objectionable  to  Edmund." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  so  different,  Cynthia,  from  what  hap- 
pened on  our  side.  Climb  down !  There  was  no  such 
idea  in  William's  mind.  Can't  we  get  it  straight?  Sup- 
posing William  apologizes  to  Edmund  for  anything 
that  may  have  displeased  him!  I  believe  he  would  be 


176        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

ready  to  do  that.  And  you  mustn't  forget  Edmund's 
first  letter  to  him,  which  you  have  acknowledged  your- 
self— and  I  saw — was  very  dictatorial,  and  even  offen- 
sive, though  perhaps  it  was  not  meant  to  be  so." 

"  Offensive !    No,  I  shouldn't  quite  admit  that." 

"  You  say  you  didn't  see  it,  dear.  Among  other 
things,  he  accused  William  of  vulgarity." 

"  Vulgarity !  "  Mrs,  Eldridge  showed  some  surprise. 
"  Well,  of  course  that  would  be  rather  strong.  But — " 

"  William  is  careless  about  Edmund's  position  here, 
you  say.  Very  well.  He  doesn't  mean  to  be,  and  per- 
haps Edmund  doesn't  mean  to  be  dictatorial.  But  he 
is,  you  know,  towards  William;  and  considering  the 
high  estimation  in  which  William  is  held,  and  the  kind 
of  people  he  mixes  with,  upon  equal  terms,  it  is  some- 
times rather  difficult  to  put  up  with." 

"  Isn't  all  that  rather  apt  to  be  pressed  home  upon 
us,  dear?  Not  by  you — I  don't  mean  that.  Naturally 
you  are  proud  of  the  estimation  in  which  William  is 
held.  I  should  be  myself  if  I  were  in  your  place.  But 
Edmund  feels,  I  think,  that  he  might  be  spared  some 
of  William's  reminders  on  that  point.  In  the  very 
letter  he  wrote  about  the  garden,  in  which  he  said  that 
Hayslope  couldn't  be  expected  to  be  of  such  importance 
to  him  as  it  was  to  Edmund,  he  prepared  the  way  by 
telling  him  of  all  the  great  people  he  was  consorting 
with — as  you  say,  upon  equal  terms." 

"  Which  is  exactly  what  I  did,  when  I  wrote  to  you 
after  we  had  come  back  from  Wellsbury.  We  were 
there  on  equal  terms,  you  know;  we  didn't  dine  in  the 
servants*  hall." 


DISCUSSION  177 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  mustn't  take  it  in  that  way,  or 
we  may  as  well  leave  off  talking  about  it  altogether.  I 
didn't  show  annoyance  when  you  accused  Edmund  just 
now  of  being  dictatorial  and  offensive.  Don't  let  us 
fall  out  with  one  another,  or  everything  is  lost." 

Lady  Eldridge  sat  more  erect  in  her  chair.  "  We 
must  end  it  all,"  she  said.  "  Neither  you  nor  I  want 
it  to  go  on.  Let  us  leave  off  finding  faults  in  the  other 
side,  and  admit  that  both  sides  have  made  mistakes. 
It  was  unfortunate  that  William  should  have  wired 
to  Coombe,  and  sent  no  message  to  Edmund  at  the 
same  time.  It's  easy  enough  to  see  that  now;  but  at 
the  time  it  didn't  occur  to  me,  who  was  very  anxious 
that  offence  should  not  be  given,  and  I'm  sure  it  didn't 
occur  to  William.  I  have  told  you,  anyhow,  that  his 
resentment  over  Edmund's  letter  had  passed  over; 
so  that  can  be  cleared  out  of  the  way.  Edmund  need 
think  no  more  about  it.  Now  let  us  get  William's 
mistake  cleared  out  of  the  way.  Tell  Edmund  that  it 
was  only  carelessness  on  William's  part  that  led  to 
this  new  trouble,  that  7  much  regret  it,  now  it  has 
been  pointed  out  to  me,  and  that  I'm  sure  William  will 
when  he  knows  the  effect  it  had.  Will  you  do  that, 
Cynthia?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  of  course  I  will.  Don't  let  us  have  any 
more  letters.  Let  us  wait  until  you  come  down  again 
next  week,  and  then  Edmund  and  William  can  talk  it 
all  over  together,  and  I'm  sure  at  the  end  of  it  they  will 
be  as  good  friends  as  before." 

Lady  Eldridge  breathed  an  audible  sigh  of  relief, 
and  smiled.  "  We  have  talked  pretty  plainly  to  one 


178        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

another,"  she  said.  "  I  am  so  glad  that  we  can.  What 
a  lot  of  trouble  that  unfortunate  garden  plan  of  ours 
has  made!  And  it  looked  as  if  we  were  all  going  to 
amuse  ourselves  sjo  much  with  it." 

"  Oh,  and  I  hope  we  shall.  Do  you  know,  I  think 
Edmund  is  as  much  disappointed  at  the  idea  of  its 
being  given  up  as  anybody.  I  haven't  told  you  yet — 
we  seem  to  have  been  talking  about  all  sorts  of  out- 
side things — that  he  was  going  to  send  a  long  telegram 
to  William  asking  him  to  go  on  with  it,  even  after 
Coombe  had  come  to  him  and  refused  to  take  his 
orders." 

Lady  Eldridge  seemed  quite  at  a  loss.  She  stared  at 
her  and  said  quietly :  "  No,  you  never  told  me  that.  I 
didn't  know  that  Coombe  had  been  to  Edmund  at  all." 

"  How  did  you  think  he  knew,  then,  that  the  men 
had  been  paid  off?  You  haven't  done  my  poor  old 
Edmund  quite  justice,  you  know,  Eleanor — but  I  don't 
want  to  begin  on  that  again.  He  was  naturally  upset 
at  hearing  of  it  first  from  Coombe,  and  yet  he  was 
going  to  wire  to  William.  In  fact,  he  was  going  to 
climb  down." 

"  Lady  Eldridge  passed  this  by  with  a  slight  con- 
traction of  the  brows.  "  What  prevented  him  from 
writing?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  told  you  that.  The  labourers  who 
had  been  dismissed  came  to  him,  and  said  they  wouldn't 
go  on  working  under  Coombe.  I'm  afraid  William  will 
have  to  get  rid  of  that  man,  Eleanor.  The  way  he  has 
behaved  is  perfectly  outrageous.  In  fact,  but  for  him, 
the  garden  might  have  been  half  finished  by  this  time." 


DISCUSSION  179 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  Lady  Eldridge 
said :  "  This  is  something  quite  new  again.  You  must 
tell  me  everything,  please,  Cynthia." 

"  I  don't  know  that  there's  much  more  to  tell,  dear. 
Coombe  quite  obviously  came  to  Edmund  to  crow  over 
him,  though  of  course  he  pretended  to  be  respectful. 
But  when  Edmund  told  him  that  there  had  been  a  mis- 
take and  that  the  work  was  to  go  on,  he  said  he  had 
had  his  orders  and  must  abide  by  them.  So  what  else 
could  he  have  come  for?  " 

"  What  did  he  say  he  had  come  for?  I'm  not  defend- 
ing him,  but  this  is  serious.  I  want  to  know  exactly 
what  happened." 

"  Oh,  he  pretended  that  the  men  who  had  been  dis- 
missed might  make  a  disturbance  in  the  village.  So 
ridiculous !  Two  of  them  are  Edmund's  own  tenants, 
and  the  other  two  are  most  respectable  men,  and  one 
of  them  is  a  teetotaller.  Edmund  says  he  has  seldom 
had  work  better  done  than  they  are  doing  it  now." 

"  I  wish  William  were  here.  Coombe  has  never  given 
us  any  cause  for  dissatisfaction,  and  this  is  quite  a  new 
light  on  him." 

"  And  afterwards  it  came  out  that  he  had  spoken  in 
the  most  impertinent  way  about  Edmund  to  these  very 
men;  so  much  so,  that  old  Jackson  wouldn't  put  up 
with  it,  and  all  of  them  would  have  refused  to  go  on 
working  under  him  if  he  had  been  told  to  go  on — by 
William,  I  mean,  for  he  had  been  told  to  go  on  by 
Edmund  and  had  refused  to  do  so.  The  fact  is,  I  sup- 
pose he  had  got  into  a  mess  with  his  men,  and  thought 
he  could  shift  the  blame  on  to  Edmund.  You  see,  dear, 


180         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

— take  it  all  round — it  was  really  impossible  that  the 
work  should  be  taken  up  again.  Still-,  I  quite  hope  that 
*it  may  be,  later,  and  be  finished  in  time  for  the  autumn 
planting.  There  isn't  any  violent  hurry,  is  there?  " 

"  No.  But  whether  the  garden  is  made  or  not  seems 
so  unimportant  now  in  the  face  of  all  these  complica- 
tions. I  think  I  won't  say  anything  to  Coombe  myself, 
but  will  wait  until  William  comes  down.  What  was  it 
actually  that  he  said  to  the  men  about  Edmund  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  outrageous ;  but  it  shows  the  sort  of 
feeling  that  has  grown  up  with  regard  to  Edmund  and 
William.  He  told  them  that  Edmund  was  desperately 
jealous  of  William  on  account  of  his  title  and  his 
money,  and  that  if  this  work  they  were  doing  was 
stopped  they  would  have  him  to  thank  for  it,  for  he 
hated  William  doing  anything  at  Hayslope.  Then  of 
course  he  had  been  paying  them  more  than  the  current 
rate  of  wages — I  suppose  William  didn't  know  that — 
which  made  it  difficult  for  Edmund  when  it  came  to 
employing  them  himself.  But  there  they  are,  working 
for  us  at  less  than  they  were  paid  here,  and  refusing 
to  go  on  under  Coombe  at  the  higher  rate.  So  you  see 
that  Edmund  t*  still  respected  by  the  villagers  and 
work-people,  in  spite  of  all  the  difficulties  that  have 
been  made." 

Lady  Eldridge  arose  somewhat  abruptly.  "  We 
seem  to  have  got  back  to  general  criticism,"  she  said, 
"which  I  thought  we  had  put  behind  us.  I  am  not 
going  on  with  that,  Cynthia.  I  think  we  had  better 
leave  it  alone  altogether  until  William  comes  down. 
See,  the  rain  has  stopped.  Let  us  go  out." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CHURCH   AND   AFTER 

THERE  was  nothing  remarkable  about  Hayslope  Church, 
unless  it  was  its  tower,  which  was  large  enough  to  make 
it  a  landmark  for  miles  around,  and  its  bells,  whose  full 
and  mellow  peal  ringing  out  across  the  summer  woods 
and  fields,  or  in  winter  time  over  a  landscape  muffled 
white  in  snow,  brought  that  sense  of  peaceful  festivity 
which  belongs  especially  to  rural  England,  so  many 
centuries  old.  The  tower  was  of  perpendicular  archi- 
tecture, the  main  body  of  the  church,  conceived  with 
less  largeness  of  aim,  of  an  earlier  date.  But  most  of 
its  character  had  been  finally  lost  in  the  restoration  to 
which  it  had  been  subjected  in  the  latter  half  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  Colonel  Eldridge's  grandfather  had 
supplied  the  money  for  this  work,  as  a  thank-offering 
for  the  safe  return  of  his  son,  who  had  been  in  the 
thick  of  the  Indian  Mutiny.  The  taste,  which  had 
seemed  to  him  of  the  best,  had  been  supplied  by  one  or 
other  of  the  ecclesiological  malefactors  of  the  time, 
whose  baneful  activities,  carried  on  by  their  immediate 
successors,  have  left  scarcely  an  old  church  in  all  Eng- 
land in  which  it  is  possible  to  feel  the  quiet  and  grateful 
influences  of  tradition.  There  were  seats  of  pitch  pine, 
varnished,  a  chancel  paved  with  encaustic  tiles,  thinly 
lacquered  metal  work  of  a  mean  design,  and  a  little 

181 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

triple  reredos  of  oak  underneath  the  distressing  colours 
of  the  East  window. 

And  yet  it  was  possible  sometimes  to  catch  the  sense 
of  the  long  past,  which  the  restorers  had  done  their 
mischievous  best  to  destroy.  Lady  Eldridge,  somewhat 
troubled  in  her  mind,  and  anxious  to  lay  hold  of  what- 
ever composing  influence  the  morning  service  could  bring 
her,  looked  here  and  there  during  the  progress  of  the 
sermon,  and  it  came  home  to  her — that  soothing  im- 
pression of  age  and  use  and  wont,  which  is  the  rightful 
heritage  of  old  churches,  and  especially  of  old  country 
churches. 

The  seats  belonging  to  the  Hall  and  the  Grange  were 
in  what  had  once  been  the  South  Chapel,  and  were 
slightly  raised  above  the  rest.  The  side  view  of  the  altar, 
the  choir-boys  and  handful  of  choirmen,  backed  by  the 
garishly  patterned  organ  pipes,  held  nothing  for  the 
eye  to  rest  on  with  pleasure.  But  the  high  pulpit,  of 
Jacobean  oak,  from  which  Mr.  Comf rey  was  engaged  in 
directing  his  flock,  was  consecrated  by  some  centuries 
of  use  to  that  weekly  exercise.  Behind  him,  in  a  line 
from  where  she  was  sitting,  was  a  window  of  little  dia- 
mond panes  of  clear  glass,  through  which  the  tr-^s 
could  be  seen,  and  the  birds  flying  to  and  fro.  Perhaps 
it  was  this  which  first  brought  the  sense  of  peace  to  her 
mind ;  for  that  outlook  into  the  happy  world  of  birds  and 
trees  had  often  freed  her  thoughts  from  the  slight  op- 
pression caused  by  Mr.  Comfrey's  dialectics,  which  were 
concerned  with  nothing  that  seemed  to  bear  upon  the  life 
that  was  all  about  him.  But  this  morning  it  set  her 
thinking  of  the  past,  as  it  hung  about  the  familiar 


CHURCH  AND  AFTER  183 

church,  in  which  once  or  twice  before  she  had  caught  at 
the  skirts  of  time,  and  held  them  for  a  little. 

Underneath  the  tower,  from  the  wooden  ceiling  behind 
the  high-pointed  arch,  the  stout  bell-ropes  hung  down, 
thickened  with  worsted  where  the  ringers  held  them. 
Behind  them  were  the  ponderous  oak  doors,  from  a 
chink  between  which  streamed  a  thin  plate  of  golden 
light,  that  fell  upon  the  sombre  tables  of  the  law,  which 
the  renovators  had  banished  from  over  the  altar;  and 
above  the  arch  was  a  large  square  panel  painted  with 
the  Royal  Coat  of  Arms.  Somehow,  the  sight  of  these 
things,  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  long-ago  his- 
tory of  the  church,  was  grateful  to  her.  Her  imagina- 
tion, and  her  knowledge,  were  equal  to  reviving  some 
vision  of  the  church  as  it  had  been  before  the  Reforma- 
tion, when  the  same  kind  of  country-folk  as  now  resorted 
to  it  fixed  their  stolid  gaze  upon  the  priest  before  the 
altar,  and  knew  him  in  his  outside  comings  and  goings 
as  the  villagers  of  to-day  knew  their  Mr.  Comfrey.  But 
it  was  a  life  nearer  to  her  own,  and  yet  established  for 
some  generations  past,  of  which  the  voice  of  the  old 
church  whispered  to  her  this  morning.  By  turning  her 
head  to  the  right  she  could  see  a  large  mural  monument 
of  white  marble,  filling  the  space  of  a  blocked-up  window, 
which  commemorated  the  virtues  of  an  early  eighteenth 
century  Eldridge,  and  those,  less  enlarged  upon  but 
possibly  as  exemplary,  of  his  wife.  Those  were  the 
times  of  which  she  liked  to  think,  and  the  years  that 
came  after  them,  when  her  husband's  forbears  lived  in 
the  Hall,  much  as  it  was  now,  and  came  here  every 
Sunday,  to  take  part  in  the  same  prayers  and  psalms, 


184        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

and  to  listen,  or  otherwise,  to  sermons  from  the  same 
pulpit.  Some  of  them  had  lived  through  troublous 
times,  but  none,  surely,  in  such  a  time  of  unrest  as  this, 
with  the  great  catastrophe  only  just  lifted,  and  its  ul- 
timate results  not  yet  in  any  power  to  foresee.  She 
herself  had  been  less  affected  by  it  than  many.  She  had 
lost  no  near  relations ;  she  had  not  to  rearrange  her  life 
to  meet  reduced  opportunities.  But  the  weight  of  it 
hung  over  her  all  the  same.  It  was  a  comfort  to  feel 
that  here  was  something  that  went  on,  that  came  from 
a  past  not  too  remote,  and  was  joined  to  her  life  by 
special  ties. 

In  the  two  seats  in  front  of  her  sat  the  family  from 
the  Hall.  They  had  not  come  unscathed  out  of  the 
catastrophe.  Yet  the  same  sense  of  something  stable 
and  supporting  in  this  Sunday  habit  of  churchgoing 
hung  about  them.  More  even  than  herself  they  be- 
longed here.  Almost  more  than  the  house  they  in- 
habited, this  place  seemed  to  stand  for  continuity  and 
settlement  in  the  lives  of  such  as  they.  For  life  in  the 
house  must  alter  from  time  to  time,  and  might  alter 
much ;  but  what  went  on  in  the  church  altered  little. 

Such  a  life  as  theirs  seemed  to  her  preferable  to  her 
own  life,  even  with  the  restrictions  that  diminished 
means  had  brought  them.  Such  restrictions  would  not 
have  troubled  her  for  herself,  as  long  as  the  quiet  round 
of  daily  duty  and  pleasure  remained.  She  would  have 
enjoyed  it  more  than  the  life  she  led,  chiefly  in  London. 
The  days  she  spent  at  the  Grange  were  the  best  days, 
but  the  Grange  too  seemed  to  echo  the  busy  London  life, 
so  bound  up  in  all  its  aspects  with  the  spending  of 


CHURCH  AND  AFTER  185 

money.  There  was  some  restful  feeling  about  it, 
surrounded  as  it  was  by  the  woods  and  fields,  but  it  was 
not  to  compare  with  the  restfulness  of  the  Hall,  which 
reflected  only  the  life  of  the  country,  as  it  had  been  lived 
there  for  generations.  It  seemed  to  her  that  if  she  had 
been  in  Cynthia's  place  she  would  have  been  glad  that 
the  London  house  had  had  to  be  given  up,  for  all  her 
interests  then  would  have  been  concentrated  upon  the 
house  which  was  really  the  home.  Cynthia  did  love  her 
country  home,  she  knew,  and  had  accepted  the  change 
in  her  lot  with  admirable  absence  of  complaint.  But 
they  were  not  made  alike ;  Cynthia  would  have  been  com- 
pletely happy  if  their  positions  in  life  had  been  changed. 

Colonel  Eldridge  sat  upright  in  his  seat,  his  closely- 
cropped  grey  head  held  erect,  the  brown  skin  of  his 
neck  and  shaven  cheek  contrasting  with  the  clean  pol- 
ished white  of  his  stiff  collar,  his  flat  back  and  square 
shoulders  clothed  in  dark  creaseless  serge.  The  rigid 
neatness  of  his  appearance  and  attire  went  with  his 
straight  confined  mind,  in  which  there  was  little  room 
for  the  leniencies  that  gave  her  the  sense  of  something 
large  and  responsive  in  her  husband.  Her  gaze  rested 
on  him,  and  she  tried  to  imagine  something  of  what  he 
was  thinking,  as  he  sat  so  unmoved,  his  eyes  bent  down, 
and  his  ears,  she  was  sure,  not  responsive  to  Mr.  Com- 
frey's  well-intentioned  hair-splittings. 

It  was  probably  this  effort  to  put  herself  in  his  place 
that  brought  to  her  a  rush  of  pity  for  him,  so  strong 
that  moisture  came  to  her  eyes,  and  she  looked  away  to 
the  ribbons  and  daisies  in  Isabelle's  hat,  immediately  in 
front  of  her. 


186        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

She  had  been  hard  to  him  in  her  thoughts,  although 
she  had  worked  upon  her  husband's  more  easily  moved 
sensibilities  to  put  aside  the  offence  he  had  caused,  and 
to  treat  him  with  generosity.  She  had  even  felt  great 
impatience  with  Cynthia,  though  she  hoped  she  had  re- 
frained from  showing  it.  It  had  been  difficult,  the  day 
before,  to  treat  her  with  the  customary  affection,  when 
they  had  laid  aside  their  discussion,  which  was  leading 
to  no  understanding,  and  spent  an  hour  together  out  of 
doors.  She  believed  Cynthia  to  be  as  anxious  as  she 
was  that  this  unseemly  dispute  in  which  they  had  found 
themselves  involved  should  end ;  but  Cynthia  had  allowed 
herself  to  say  many  things  that  she  would  not  have  al- 
lowed to  be  said  to  her  without  taking  great  offence. 
She  had  been  right  to  let  them  go  by,  but  she  was  not 
so  sure  that  she  had  not  kept  a  spark  of  resentment 
over  them  alive  in  her  mind.  If  so,  she  must  put  it  out. 
Cynthia  was  her  friend  of  many  years,  and  did  love  her; 
of  that  she  was  assured.  Friends  ought  to  be  able  to 
speak  plainly  to  one  another,  and  if  they  did  not 
agree  upon  a  given  subject,  they  must  fall  back 
upon  the  deeper  agreement  to  which  their  friend- 
ship had  brought  them,  tested  by  time  and  welded  by 
affection. 

In  this  dispute  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  that  could 
be  done  by  discussing  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  it.  Dis- 
cussion seemed  only  to  add  new  causes  of  complaint, 
which  were  already  so  numerous  as  to  be  swamping  the 
original  one.  But  the  deeper  tie  was  there,  for  all  of 
them.  She  made  up  her  mind  definitely  that  she,  for  her 
part,  would  lean  all  her  weight  upon  it,  and  not  allow 


CHURCH  AND  AFTER  187 

herself  to  be  turned  aside  by  any  accidents  of  the 
moment.  And  she  knew  that  William  would  be  ready 
to  act  the  large  generosity  that  was  his,  even  to  the 
extent  of  accepting  blame,  where  blame  was  not  rightly 
due  to  him. 

What  was  it  that  really  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the 
feeling  that  seemed  to  be  growing  up  to  separate  them  ? 
Not  the  question  of  the  garden,  which  had  been  com- 
plicated by  all  sorts  of  little  mistakes,  or  it  would  have 
been  amicably  settled  long  ago.  Cynthia  had  been  right 
when  she  had  said  that  that  was  only  a  symptom,  though 
she  had  applied  it  only  to  one  side.  Edmund  com- 
plained of  William  overshadowing  him  at  Hayslope. 
That  was  what  it  came  to  in  the  last  resort.  Well, 
William  was  a  man  of  mark,  and  Edmund  was  not. 
And  it  was  impossible  for  William  to  put  the  same 
value  upon  what  was  of  most  importance  to  Edmund, 
which  was  also  a  cause  of  complaint.  Hayslope  wasn't 
and  couldn't  be  always  in  the  forefront  of  his  mind,  with 
all  the  varied  and  thronging  interests  that  were  his, 
Edmund  ought  to  be  able  to  see  that ;  but  if  he  couldn't, 
or  wouldn't,  then  it  only  remained  for  William  to  be 
more  careful  than  ever  not  to  upset  his  dignity,  which 
should  not  be  very  difficult  for  him,  with  the  affection 
that  he  had  for  Edmund.  As  for  the  dictatorial 
methods  that  Edmund  was  apt  to  adopt  towards  his 
younger  brother,  perhaps  it  had  been  a  mistake  to  bring 
them  up  at  all.  It  would  be  small-minded  to  keep  them 
standing  as  a  subject  for  resentment,  and  they  meant 
nothing  that  mattered.  William  had  put  up  with  them 
comfortably  for  the  greater  part  of  his  life,  and  she 


188        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

was  sure  he  would  go  on  putting  up  with  them  for  the 
sake  of  keeping  the  peace. 

Without  a  doubt,  when  the  balance  was  struck,  there 
had  been  more  offence  against  them  than  against  Ed- 
mund. Very  well,  then ;  it  was  for  them  to  make  light 
of  it.  They  could  well  afford  to  do  so.  They  had  so 
much  more  than  Edmund  now;  they  would  even  stand 
in  Edmund's  place  some  day,  if  they  survived  him,  and 
would  have  that  in  addition  which  he  had  hoped  to  have 
handed  on  to  his  son.  Poor  Edmund ;  he  had  been  very 
much  tried.  It  would  not  cost  much  to  give  way  to 
him  in  this  affair,  and  carefully  to  avoid  all  occasions 
of  offence  in  the  future. 

The  service  came  to  an  end,  and  the  congregation 
streamed  out  into  the  bright  sunlight.  It  was  com- 
posed of  the  households  from  the  Hall,  the  Grange,  and 
the  Vicarage,  a  few  farmers  and  their  families,  villagers 
and  labouring  people.  It  had  not  filled  half  the  church, 
for  the  country  habit  of  churchgoing  is  lessening,  along 
with  the  not  so  admirable  habit  of  Sabbatarianism.  At 
Hayslope,  perhaps  more  people  went  to  church  than 
would  be  usual  in  a  country  village,  because  the  gentry 
went  regularly,  and,  although  Colonel  Eldridge  would 
not  have  put  pressure  on  any  of  his  tenantry  to  follow 
his  example,  it  was  generally  supposed  that  he  liked  to 
see  as  full  a  congregation  as  possible.  It  was  his  cus- 
tom to  linger  in  the  churchyard  after  the  service,  to 
exchange  salutations,  and  for  a  few  words  with  one  and 
another.  Lady  Eldridge,  whose  eyes  and  ears  were 
open  towards  him,  marked  his  pleasant  courteous  air 
with  those  to  whom  he  spoke.  It  was  plain  that  they 


CHURCH  AND  AFTER  189 

liked  to  be  singled  out  by  him.  He  was  an  excellent 
Squire,  of  a  kind  that  is  fast  disappearing.  There  was 
nobody  there  that  morning  of  whom  he  did  not  know 
something  more  than  their  occupations  about  this  estate. 
He  could  probably  have  put  a  name  to  all  the  children, 
and  they  bobbed,  and  touched  their  caps  to  him,  not  as 
if  they  had  merely  been  taught  to  do  so.  It  was  not, 
after  all,  so  small  a  thing  to  hold  the  respect  and  es- 
teem of  some  few  hundreds  of  people  towards  all  of 
whom,  directly  or  indirectly,  he  stood  in  a  special  posi- 
tion not  invariably  easy  to  maintain.  Money  could  not 
have  bought  just  that  response;  there  were  many  rich 
landowners,  generous  according  to  their  lights,  who 
would  not  have  been  liked  and  respected  in  the  way  this 
one  was,  who  might  now  be  called  poor. 

There  was  a  gate  leading  from  the  churchyard  to  the 
Vicarage  garden,  but  Fred  Comfrey  joined  himself  on 
to  the  Eldridges,  who  crossed  the  road  and  entered  the 
park  through  the  lodge  gates,  just  opposite.  He  seemed 
to  Norman,  who  watched  him  with  an  unfavouring  eye, 
to  do  this  with  a  hangdog  air,  as  if  he  knew  he  was 
taking  a  liberty.  At  any  rate,  he  should  not  walk  with 
Pamela,  if  that  was  his  object.  Norman  fastened  upon 
her  himself,  and  said :  "  Let's  get  away.  I  want  to  talk 
to  you  about  something." 

"  Wait  half  a  minute,"  she  said,  her  head  turned  to- 
wards the  group  behind  her;  and  then  she  moved 
towards  Fred,  and  said :  "  I've  found  that  book  at  last. 
If  you'll  come  up  now  I'll  give  it  to  you." 

Fred  visibly  brightened,  before  Norman's  offended 
eyes,  and  seized  upon  her  invitation  as  inclusive  of  her 


190        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

company  during  the  walk  home,  for  he  put  himself  in- 
stantly by  her  side.  She  threw  a  half-glance  at  Nor- 
man, such  as  to  absolve  her  in  his  mind  from  having 
intended  this ;  but  she  shouldn't  have  given  the  bounder 
the  opportunity  of  joining  her  in  that  way.  Of  course 
he  would  stick  like  a  leech,  if  he  got  the  smallest  en- 
couragement. 

Pamela  said  to  Norman,  trying  to  bring  him  into  a 
conversation  of  three :  "  Do  you  remember  that  book, 
'  Jack  o'  the  Mill '  that  Hugo  used  to  be  so  fond  of  when 
he  was  a  boy  ?  I  remember  him  showing  me  the  pictures 
in  it,  when  I  was  quite  tiny.  Fred  reminded  me  of  it, 
and  I've  found  it  for  him." 

"  No,"  said  Norman,  who  remembered  the  book  per- 
fectly well.  But  "  no  "  was  the  shortest  word  he  could 
find.  He  wanted  to  hear  Fred  talk,  and  give  himself 
away. 

Fred  seemed  to  be  quite  ready  to  talk,  and  he  did  not 
follow  Pamela's  lead  in  trying  to  bring  Norman  into  the 
conversation.  He  talked  about  Hugo,  in  a  way  that 
aroused  Norman's  contemptuous  disgust.  Really,  one 
would  have  thought  that  the  two  of  them  together  had 
been  models  of  sweet  and  innocent  boyhood,  and  that 
the  one  who  was  dead  lived  enshrined  in  the  heart  of  the 
other  as  a  tender  memory  that  would  never  fade.  Poor 
little  Pam  liked  it,  of  course,  and  there  was  no  objection 
to  having  Hugo  turned  into  a  plaster  saint  for  her 
benefit.  But  the  fellow  was  obviously  out  to  recommend 
himself  through  this  beatification,  and  to  share  the  halo. 
He  was  trying  now  to  bring  Pamela  herself  into  the 
picture  of  the  blameless  past,  representing  the  three  of 


CHURCH  AND  AFTER  191 

them  as  having  taken  part  in  the  sacred  idyll.  This 
afforded  Norman  food  for  sardonic  amusement,  re- 
membering as  he  did  how  little  Pamela  had  been  con- 
sidered by  the  hulking  brute  that  Fred  had  been  then, 
or  even  by  Hugo,  when  he  had  been  in  Fred's  company. 
At  the  third  or  fourth  "  Do  you  remember?  "  he  could 
stand  it  no  longer,  and  turned  back  to  join  the  children 
and  Miss  Baldwin,  who  were  immediately  behind  them. 
This  was  intended  as  a  protest,  but  neither  Pamela  nor 
Fred,  in  the  interest  of  their  conversation,  seemed  to 
notice  it. 

Fred  did  not  stay  to  luncheon,  although  Norman 
heard  his  aunt  invite  him.  He  went  off  with  his  book, 
and  Norman  had  his  opportunity  of  talking  to  Pamela. 
It  had  been  in  his  mind  to  begin  upon  the  subject  of 
Fred;  but  it  was  of  no  use  just  to  repeat  his  warn- 
ing of  yesterday,  and  anything  he  might  say  about  the 
conversation  from  which  he  had  just  retired  in  disgust 
would  reflect  upon  Hugo.  Hugo  was  becoming  increas- 
ingly a  subject  not  to  be  mentioned  between  him  and 
Pamela.  Besides,  he  had  something  he  wanted  to  say 
to  her. 

She  waited  for  him  to  speak  first,  as  they  turned  to- 
wards the  lawn,  and  possibly  expected  a  rebuke,  as 
before.  "  I  say,  Pam,"  he  said.  "  This  is  a  rotten 
business  about  the  new  garden." 

"  What  new  garden  ?  "  she  asked  in  surprise,  for  her 
parents  were  old-fashioned  in  respect  of  not  discussing 
all  and  everything  before  their  children,  and  no  echo  of 
what  had  been  disturbing  them  had  reached  her. 

He  was  surprised  in  his  turn.     "  What,  don't  you 


19£        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

know?  "  he  said.  "  Father  had  begun  to  make  a  garden 
in  that  field  at  the  bottom  of  the  wood,  and  Uncle  Ed- 
mund stopped  it." 

Then  he  gave  her  the  story,  as  it  had  been  told  him 
by  Coombe  that  morning,  when  he  had  gone  down  to 
Barton's  Close,  and  found  him  in  his  Sunday  clothes, 
musing  over  the  havoc  he  had  wrought.  The  story  had 
lost  nothing  in  the  way  of  incrimination  of  Colonel  Eld- 
ridge,  and  complete  exculpation  of  himself. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Pam  shortly.  "  If  anything 
has  happened,  it  wasn't  like  that." 

"  Well,  something  has  happened,  because  the  digging 
was  stopped  a  week  ago,  and  the  men  who  were  doing 
it  are  working  at  the  drive  here." 

"  Yes,  Dad  did  say,  now  I  remember,  that  he  had 
taken  on  some  men  who  had  been  working  for  Uncle  Bill. 
What  does  Auntie  Eleanor  say  about  it?  " 

"  I  haven't  said  anything  to  her.  It  seems  to  me, 
anyhow,  as  if  our  respective,  and  respected,  parents  had 
fallen  out,  and  I  want  to  know  what  line  we  are  going  to 
take  about  it." 

"  The  line  7  should  take  about  it,  if  I  had  to  take  any, 
would  be  that  if  Dad  and  Uncle  Bill  disagreed  about 
something,  Dad  would  be  in  the  right." 

"I  say,  Pam!     Are  you  annoyed  about  anything?" 

"  No." 

"  Well,  you're  rather  terse,  aren't  you  ?  It's  a  pity, 
because  you're  looking  particularly  seraphic  this  morn- 
ing. I  noticed  it  first  in  church." 

"  It  was  very  sweet  of  you ;  and  I  believe  it  to  be  so. 
Everything  seemed  to  go  on  right  this  morning.  There 


CHURCH  AND  AFTER  193 

are  days  like  that.  You  don't  think  that  Dad  and 
Uncle  Bill  have  really  quarrelled,  do  you?  Of  course  I 
know  the  garden  was  to  be  made,  and  it  seems  odd  that 
it  should  have  been  left  off  like  that." 

"  Yes,  it  is  odd.  I  don't  like  to  think  of  their  having 
a  row.  It  would  be  very  unlike  them.  Still,  according 
to  Coombe — " 

"  What,  according  to  Coombe?  If  he  said  what  you 
say  he  did  about  Dad,  you  ought  to  have  shut  him  up." 

"  I  did,  as  a  matter  of  fact.  But  there  must  be 
something  in  it." 

"  I  think  we'd  better  wait  and  see  what  there  is.  If 
there's  anything  at  all,  it  will  blow  over.  I  suppose  you 
can't  expect  them  always  to  agree  about  everything,  and 
Uncle  Bill  is  so  much  away,  and  so  busy,  that  he  might 
not  always  think  enough  of  Dad's  point  of  view,  who 
is  always  here." 

"  It  might  be  something  of  that  sort.  Anyhow,  we 
needn't  take  sides." 

"Oh,  7  should,  if  there  was  really  a  quarrel.  I  adore 
Uncle  Bill,  but  if  it  was  a  question  between  him  and 
Dad  I  should  take  Dad's  side  through  thick  and 
thin.  And  I  should  expect  you  to  take  Uncle  Bill's. 
So  I  expect  we  should  quarrel  worse  than  they 
would." 

He  laughed  lightly.  "  Not  much  fear  of  our  quarrel- 
ling," he  said.  "  I  say,  Pam,  have  you  seen  Sunny  Jim 
lately?  I'm  told  that  he  is  in  residence  at  Pershore 
Castle,  the  seat  of  his  father,  the  Earl  of  Crowborough, 
and  a  dull  dog  at  that." 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  over  here  once  or  twice.     I  should 


194        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

think  he  might  quite  possibly  come  over  this  afternoon. 
Do  you  want  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  particularly  want  to ;  but  I 
shall,  no  doubt.  How  is  his  affair  progressing  ?  " 

"What  affair?" 

"  His  suit  for  the  hand  of  Miss  Eldridge,  of  Hayslope 
Hall.  Is  his  ardour  still  undiminished,  and  has  he  had 
any  encouragement  yet?  " 

Pamela  laughed.  "  I'll  tell  you  something,  if  you'll 
promise  to  keep  it  to  yourself,"  she  said. 

Norman  promised. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  he  knows  it  yet,  but  he  is  be- 
ginning to  fall  in  love  with  Judith.  She  doesn't  know  it 
either,  of  course ;  but  it's  the  greatest  fun  in  the  world 
to  watch  them," 

"  Tell  me  about  it.  I  shouldn't  mind  that  at  all. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  think  Jim  ought  to  be  kept  in  the 
family,  dull  as  he  is.  As  long  as  it  isn't  you !  " 

"  Judith  doesn't  find  him  dull.  And  you  make  a  great 
deal  too  much  of  his  dulness.  He  isn't  interested  in  the 
things  that  we  like ;  but  he  does  know  a  lot,  and  I  should 
think  he  was  very  sound  in  what  he  does  know." 

"  Let's  hope  he  is.  Oh,  he's  not  a  bad  fellow,  I  like 
old  Jim ;  and  people  liked  him  at  school.  It's  only  that 
one  gets  in  the  way  of  labelling  a  fellow.  Judith's  a 
funny  bird ;  you  never  quite  know  how  to  take  her.  She's 
extraordinarily  pretty,  though,  and  ought  to  be  prettier 
still  when  she's  quite  fledged.  I  don't  wonder  that  Jim 
is  beginning  to  see  it." 

"  Oh,  but  I  don't  think  he  is  yet.  As  the  danger  is 
passing,  I  don't  mind  admitting  now  that  I  was  the 


CHURCH  AND  AFTER  195 

attraction,  and  perhaps  he  still  thinks  I  am.  He — 
Well,  he  behaves  like  that.  But  it's  Judith  who  really 
interests  him — I  suppose  because  he  interests  her.  They 
talk  over  all  sorts  of  things  together,  and  he  tells  her 
everything  about  himself,  and  what  he  is  going  to  do. 
At  present  he  doesn't  in  the  least  mind  a  third  person 
assisting  in  their  confabulations;  and  of  course  she 
doesn't,  except  that — you  know — she  hates  giving  her- 
self away.  I  keep  quiet,  and  listen,  putting  in  a  word 
every  now  and  then,  so  that  I  shan't  appear  to  be  just 
taking  notes  of  them.  It's  awfully  funny;  and  rather 
touching  too,  sometimes.  I'm  longing  for  the  time  to 
come  when  I  shall  be  found  de  trop.  When  that  hap- 
pens, something  else  will  happen  very  soon  afterwards." 

"Rather  exciting,  isn't  it?  Have  the  parents  tum- 
bled to  it  yet,  do  you  think?  " 

"  Not  to  Judith.  Oh,  look !  There  he  is !  I  said 
he  would  be  over  to-day.  Now,  if  you  keep  your  mouth 
shut  and  your  ears  open  you'll  see  that  I'm  right." 

Lord  Horsham  advanced  across  the  lawn  towards 
them,  a  smile  of  deprecation  on  his  face.  His  apologies 
and  explanations  over  having  invited  himself  to  lunch, 
delivered  with  looks  directed  straight  at  Pamela,  seemed 
to  furnish  a  contradiction  to  her  late  pronouncement. 
But  when  he  had  made  them,  and  addressed  a  few  words 
to  Norman,  he  drew  from  under  his  arm  a  large  Blue 
Book,  and  asked :  "  Where's  Judith  ?  I  said  I  would 
bring  this  over  to  show  her.  It's  about  Rural  Housing. 
You  know  we  were  talking  about  it  the  other  day." 

"  Yes,"  said  Pam.  "  I  know  she  wants  to  hear  more 
about  it.  I  think  you'll  find  her  in  the  library,  Jim.  I 


196        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

won't  come  in  just  now,  because  Norman  and  I  have 
something  to  talk  about." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry  I  disturbed  you.  Yes,  I'll  go  and 
find  her.  You're  sure  Mrs.  Eldridge  won't  mind  my 
inviting  myself  like  this?  " 

He  was  once  more  reassured,  and  went  off.  "  You 
see !  "  said  Pam,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  took  a  bright  part 
in  that  conversation,  but  it's  with  Judy  he  wants  to  go 
on  with  it." 

"  Oh,  it's  a  cinch ! "  said  Norman,  with  delight. 
"  Dear  old  silly  old  solemn  old  Jim,  and  Judith  with  her 
golden  hair  a  hanging  down  her  back!  What  a  lark, 
Pam !  But  I  say,  old  girl,  I  don't  quite  like  the  idea 
of  you  getting  left  in  this  way.  If  everything  else  had 
failed  I  did  think  you  could  fall  back  upon  the  Vis- 
countess Horsham.  Are  you  sure  you  don't  mind? 
You're  not  hiding  rampant  jealousy  under  a  mask  of 
indifference,  are  you?  It  is  sometimes  done,  I  know." 

"  No,  I'm  not.     It's  an  incubus  lifted  from  me." 

"  Well,  it  would  have  been  rather  rotten.  You're 
made  for  better  things.  What  I  have  thought  of  doing 
is  to  bring  relays  of  bright  young  fellows  down  to  stay, 
and  let  you  run  your  eye  over  them.  What  do  you 
think  of  that?  I'm  rather  tired  of  running  about,  and 
I  thought  I'd  stay  here  for  a  bit,  and  do  some  work,  and 
play  with  you." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad,  Norman.  It  is  a  little  dull  here 
sometimes  without  you.  As  for  the  bright  young  fel- 
lows, I  shall  be  pleased  to  inspect  them.  I  do  enjoy  a 
little  male  society  occasionally." 


CHAPTER     XV 

THE    RIFT 

DUSK  was  beginning  to  fall  as  Colonel  Eldridge  took  a 
last  stroll  round  the  garden  he  loved,  smoking  the 
pipe  to  which  he  had  taken  when  he  had  decided  that 
cigars  were  too  expensive  for  him  any  longer.  The 
rest  of  the  family  were  at  the  Grange,  except  the  two 
children,  who  were  supposed  to  be  in  bed.  Whether 
they  actually  were  so  or  not  their  father  allowed  him- 
self to  doubt,  with  a  smile  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 
They  had  been  keeping  him  company  until  summoned 
by  Miss  Baldwin,  and  his  thoughts  were  still  upon 
them.  He  had  a  great  love  for  young  children,  but 
some  stiff  reserved  trait  in  his  character  prevented  him 
from  showing  it,  even  to  his  own,  when  there  was  any- 
one else  by.  What  he  liked  was  to  have  them  to  him- 
self, and  listen  to  their  prattle,  which  was  all  music 
in  his  ears,  though  he  affected  to  exercise  some  control 
over  it.  He  would  rather  stay  at  home  with  the  chil- 
dren, he  had  said,  than  dine  at  the  Grange;  but  Mrs. 
Eldridge  had  understood  that  he  would  not  go  there 
until  the  dispute  beween  him  and  his  brother  was  settled. 
Sir  William  was  coming  down  late  that  evening,  dining 
on  the  train. 

The  children  actually  were  in  bed ;  for  Miss  Baldwin, 
always  eager  to  get  to  her  evening's  reading,  was  strict 
in  this  matter.  She  was  sitting  by  the  window  that 

197 


198        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

faced  on  to  the  drive.  She  liked  best  the  other  windows, 
with  their  view  across  the  lawn,  but  thought  that 
Colonel  Eldridge  might  look  up  and  see  her  there,  and 
feel  that  he  was  being  watched.  She  did  take  an  occa- 
sional surreptitious  look  at  him.  He  was  interesting 
her  at  this  time,  for  she  thought  that  he  must  soon 
come  into  the  story  which  she  was  weaving  around 
Pamela,  and  though  she  knew  how  he  ought  to  act  in 
order  to  advance  the  interest  of  the  story,  she  was  not 
•sure  that  he,  would  fulfil  her  expectations.  It  was  more 
interesting  so.  One  did  not  always  want  to  look  at 
pages  ahead  in  an  exciting  story. 

Miss  Baldwin  was  not  so  immersed  in  the  printed 
story  she  was  reading  as  to  be  quite  oblivious  to  the 
beauty  of  the  scene  before  her,  in  the  fading  light  of 
the  summer  evening.  She  sometimes  raised  her  eyes 
to  it,  with  a  grateful  sense  of  its  increasing  her  enjoy- 
ment in  the  pleasant  hour  that  was  all  her  own.  The 
sky  was  an  expanse  of  faint  pulsing  blue,  passing  to 
a  delicate  rose  above  the  horizon ;  the  distant  country 
was  losing  its  sharper  details  in  the  pale  haze  that 
enveloped  it,  but  the  heavy  mass  of  Pershore  Castle 
could  still  be  seen  in  the  middle  distance,  and  kept  alive 
in  her  mind  that  other  story  which  she  was  making 
for  herself. 

It  was  this  state  of  awareness,  no  doubt,  that  sug- 
gested to  her  that  the  motor-car  which  she  descried  on 
the  drive,  upon  one  of  her  upward  looks,  was  bringing 
one  of  Pamela's  suitors  to  interview  Pamela's  father. 
Horsham  had  driven  himself  over  a  few  evenings  before, 
after  dinner,  with  the  offer  of  a  joy-ride.  She  rose 


THE  RIFT  199 

hastily  and  looked  out  of  the  other  window.  Colonel 
Eldridge  was  still  there,  looking  at  his  roses  now,  in 
the  garden  nearest  the  drive.  He  would  be  seen  by 
whoever  was  in  the  car,  and  it  was  probable  that  the 
ensuing  conversation  would  take  place  under  her  eyes. 

The  car  could  be  seen  more  plainly  when  she  went 
back,  and  it  was  a  disappointment  to  recognize  it  as 
Sir  William  Eldridge's  big  touring  Rolls-Royce,  in- 
stead of  the  more  modest  and  slightly  out-of-date 
Renault  from  Pershore  Castle.  It  had  purred  up  to 
the  iron  gate  which  divided  the  gravelled  square  in 
front  of  the  house  from  the  park  by  the  time  she  had 
adjusted  her  mind  to  the  disappointment,  and  while 
the  chauffeur  was  opening  the  gate  she  looked  out 
again  at  Colonel  Eldridge,  who  by  this  time  had  heard 
it,  and  was  moving  towards  where  he  could  see  who 
was  coming.  She  saw  Sir  William  hitch  himself  out  of 
the  driving-seat,  and  go  across  to  his  brother,  with 
the  light  active  step  which  she  always  admired  in  him, 
and  heard  his  hearty  greeting.  "  Well,  Edmund,  old 
fellow,  I  thought  I'd  come  and  have  a  word  or  two 
with  you  on  my  way  home,  though  I  wasn't  sure  that 
you  wouldn't  be  dining  at  the  Grange.  Eleanor  wrote 
that  Cynthia  and  the  girls  were." 

It  seemed  to  Miss  Baldwin  that  Colonel  Eldridge's 
reply  to  the  greeting  was  lacking  in  the  warmth  which 
it  invited.  But  his  manner  was  never  so  free  and  open 
as  Sir  William's,  who  had  the  pleasantest  way  with 
him,  even  when  he  addressed  himself  to  a  retiring  but 
appreciative  governess.  The  words  he  used  had  no 
importance  to  impress  themselves  upon  her,  but  Sir 


200        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

William's  next  speech,  delivered  in  his  clear  voice, 
which  carried  them  up  to  her,  were :  "  I'm  glad  I've 
found  you  alone,  then.  Look  here,  old  boy,  let's  get 
this  tiresome  business  that  we've  been  writing  about 
out  of  the  way."  Here  they  moved  off  together  on  to 
the  lawn.  "  The  last  thing  in  the  world  I  want  is  to  get 
up  against  you,  and  if  I've  done  or  written  anything 
that  has  offended  you,  I'm  sorry  for  it." 

There  was  a  pause  before  Colonel  Eldridge  replied. 
His  voice  was  in  a  lower  key,  and  by  this  time  they 
were  out  of  hearing.  Miss  Baldwin,  who  had  much 
delicacy  of  feeling,  shut  the  two  windows  which  looked 
on  to  the  lawn,  softly,  while  their  backs  were  turned  to 
her;  but  she  did  not  forbid  herself  to  conjecture  what  it 
was  that  had  happened  between  them  or  to  taste  her 
own  surprise  that  anything  should  have  happened  to 
bring  forth  that  introductory  speech.  She  did  not  con- 
nect it  with  the  affair  in  which  she  was  so  interested, 
for  she  had  not  given  Sir  William  a  part  in  that  story. 
Probably  it  was  nothing  of  any  consequence,  and  when 
they  had  talked  it  over,  walking  up  and  down  the  lawn, 
Colonel  Eldridge  with  his  pipe,  Sir  William  with  his 
cigar,  they  would  go  into  the  house,  and  Sir  William 
would  take  a  little  refreshment  before  driving  himself 
home  to  the  Grange.  The  great  car  stood  there  below, 
its  latent  power  ready  to  be  put  in  motion  at  a 
moment's  notice,  and  the  chauffeur  stood  by  it,  as  if 
he,  at  least,  was  not  expecting  to  be  kept  there  long. 

The  two  men  walked  up  and  down  together  for  half 
an  hour,  until  it  became  too  dark  to  see  their  faces. 
Sometimes  they  stopped  in  their  walk  and  stood  still 


THE  RIFT  201 

for  a  time,  and  then  they  would  go  on  again.  Some- 
times Sir  William  made  a  gesture,  but  Colonel  Eldridge 
hardly  moved  his  hands,  except  to  take  his  pipe  out  of 
his  mouth,  and  once  to  fill  and  light  it  again.  It  was 
impossible  for  Miss  Baldwin,  who  now  watched  them, 
fascinated  by  a  sense  of  drama,  and  with  no  pretence 
to  herself  of  not  doing  so,  to  avoid  the  conviction  that 
their  dispute  was  serious,  and  not  easy  of  settlement. 
She  thought  she  could  tell  from  Sir  William's  move- 
ments that  he  was  coming  to  feel  more  and  more 
annoyance,  and  that  Colonel  Eldridge  was  also  angry, 
though  he  was  exercising  control  over  himself. 

But  surely,  it  must  end  some  time !  It  was  so  dark 
now  that  she  could  only  just  see  their  forms  in  the 
shade  of  the  trees,  and  Sir  William's  cigar  glowed  with 
a  red  point  of  light ;  and  still  they  went  on.  She  began 
to  get  alarmed  lest  Colonel  Eldridge  might  look  up  at 
the  windows  of  the  schoolroom  and  notice  that  they 
were  unlit,  and  it  would  be  discovered  that  she  had  been 
watching  them,  sitting  in  the  dark.  But  she  dared  not 
draw  the  curtains  now,  for  that  would  be  to  attract 
attention. 

The  end  came  suddenly,  and  in  a  way  to  make  her 
draw  her  breath.  They  had  been  stationary  for  some 
time,  and  their  voices  had  raised  themselves  slightly. 
She  could  hear  them  through  the  other  window,  which 
remained  open,  but  not  what  they  were  saying.  Sir 
William  walked  quickly  across  the  lawn,  and  through 
the  gate  to  where  his  car  was  standing.  He  got  into 
his  seat,  and  the  twin  lights  in  front  of  the  car  blazed 
out  blindingly.  The  chauffeur  ran  to  open  the  gate 


202        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

into  the  park,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  hardly  had 
time  to  jump  on  to  the  car  as  it  went  through  it,  swing- 
ing to  behind  them.  She  watched  the  radiance  that 
moved  with  it,  and  the  little  point  of  red  light  behind  it, 
until  it  disappeared  over  a  dip,  and  then  went  again  to 
the  other  window.  Colonel  Eldridge  was  lighting  his 
pipe  once  more.  When  he  had  done  so,  he  resumed  his 
slow  pacing  of  the  lawn. 

They  were  playing  Bridge  at  the  Grange,  Lady 
Eldridge  and  Pamela  against  Mrs.  Eldridge  and  Nor- 
man. Judith,  who  did  not  care  for  Bridge,  was  deep  in 
a  big  chair,  reading  a  book.  Her  passion  for  facts, 
lately  fostered  by  her  friendship  with  Lord  Horsham, 
had  not  driven  her  to  choose  this  book,  which  was 
"  Three  Men  in  a  Boat."  She  read  it  closely,  turning 
over  the  pages  at  regular  intervals,  and  never  smiled 
once.  But  when  she  came  to  reproducing  scraps  of  its 
wisdom  after  she  had  digested  it  and  made  it  her  own, 
she  would  make  others  laugh  over  it. 

Her  mother's  eyes  were  often  upon  her  in  the  inter- 
vals of  the  game,  with  a  sort  of  critical  look,  as  if  she 
were  trying  to  see  her  in  some  new  light.  She  made 
a  picture  to  fill  the  eye,  in  her  white  frock,  with  the 
deep  purple  ribbons  at  her  waist  and  in  her  dusky 
hair.  The  dark  covering  of  the  chair  framed  her  young 
form,  and  threw  up  the  delicate  profile  of  her  face,  the 
long  lashes  veiling  her  eyes,  the  full  red  lips  a  little 
apart.  •  She  was  a  very  beautiful  girl,  but  childhood 
seemed  to  linger  about  her,  emphasized  by  the  way  her 
hair  was  done,  and  the  slim  crossed  ankles  beneath  her 


THE  RIFT  203 

skirt,  shorter  than  she  would  presently  come  to  wear 
it.  Was  her  mother  trying  to  see  her  as  already 
a  woman?  It  would  not  be  surprising  if  others 
did,  though  it  was  doubtful  if  she  herself  was  yet 
ready  to  step  out  of  the  enchanted  garden  of  her 
girlhood. 

A  rubber  was  just  finished,  and  Pamela  and  Norman 
were  endeavouring  to  come  to  some  agreement  about  the 
seore,  when  sounds  were  heard  outside  which  caused 
Lady  Eldridge  to  rise  from  her  chair.  "  That  must 
be  William,"  she  said.  "  He's  very  late.  I'll  just  go 
and  see  if  he  wants  anything." 

She  went  out,  and  did  not  return.  Pamela  and* 
Norman  finished  their  calculations  and  leant  back  in 
their  chairs.  Mrs.  Eldridge  had  already  moved  to  a 
more  comfortable  one,  and  was  sitting  there  in  silence, 
looking  out  into  the  night,  through  the  open  French 
windows. 

Presently  it  became  noticeable  that  they  were  left 
alone.  Even  Judith  looked  up  from  her  book  inquir- 
ingly, but  turned  again  to  Montmorency,  relieved,  per- 
haps, at  having  a  few  more  minutes'  respite.  Norman 
said:  "I  wonder  what  they're  doing?"  Then  he  and 
Pamela  began  to  play  Patience,  and  so  they  all  con- 
tinued, but  with  expectancy. 

Ten  minutes  must  have  gone  by  before  Lady 
Eldridge  came  in  again.  Her  sister-in-law  threw  a 
sharp  glance  at  her,  but  she  showed  no  traces  of  any- 
thing having  happened  to  disturb  her,  unless  it  was  in 
an  added  seriousness  of  expression.  "  William  sends 
his  love,  and  hopes  you  will  excuse  his  coming  in,"  she 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

said.  "  He  has  some  letters  to  write  before  he  goes  to 
bed." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  got  up.  "  It  is  time  we  were  going," 
she  said,  and  Lady  Eldridge  did  not  ask  her  to  stay 
longer,  though  it  was  not  later  than  half-past  ten,  and 
their  parties  did  not  usually  break  up  so  early.  Norman 
looked  quickly  from  one  to  the  other,  and  said :  "  All 
right ;  I'll  go  and  get  the  car.  I  shall  be  ready  by  the 
time  you've  got  your  bonnet  and  spencer  on,  Aunt 
Cynthia." 

Their  light  cloaks  were  in  the  hall.  Pamela  went 
out  to  get  hers,  and  Judith  followed  her,  Mrs.  Eldridge 
lingering  behind.  "  William  went  to  see  Edmund  on 
his  way  home,"  Lady  Eldridge  said  to  her ;  "  and  they 
have  quarrelled.  Oh,  Cynthia,  do  put  it  right!  I'll  do 
all  7  can.  We  mustn't  stay  here  now,  or  the  girls  will 
suspect  something." 

She  had  spoken  with  great  earnestness,  though  hur- 
riedly, and  immediately  went  into  the  hall,  where  she 
talked  to  Pamela  and  Judith  until  Norman  came  round 
with  the  car.  Mrs.  Eldridge  said  nothing;  but  when 
she  kissed  her  sister-in-law  good-night,  she  gave 
her  a  pressure  of  the  hand,  which  was  returned  as 
warmly. 

Pamela  sat  in  front  with  Norman.  The  car  he  was 
driving  was  half  closed,  and  the  screen  behind  them 
allowed  them  to  talk  without  being  overheard  by  Mrs. 
Eldridge  and  Judith.  "  Father  has  been  with  Uncle 
Edmund,"  he  said,  "  for  nearly  an  hour.  I'm  afraid 
they've  had  a  row." 

Pamela  had  not  imagined  anything  of  the  sort,  and 


THE  RIFT  205 

was  disagreeably  affected.  "  Oh,  they  can't  have,"  she 
said.  "  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  was  odd,  his  not  coming  in.  And  why 
shouldn't  mother  have  said  that  he  had  been  at  the 
Hall?  And  why  should  she  have  stayed  out  with  him 
so  long? " 

Depression  seized  upon  Pamela.  She  was  young 
enough  to  feel  rather  shocked  at  the  idea  of  her  elders 
quarrelling,  which  had  never  happened  at  home  within 
her  knowledge.  The  Hall  and  the  Grange  had  been  in 
such  close  contact  for  years  past  that  her  uncle  and 
aunt  shared  something  of  the  feeling  that  she  had  for 
her  parents,  who  had  not  yet  come  to  be  criticized  by 
their  children.  It  was  unpleasant  to  think  of  them  as 
moved  by  temper,  or  more  than  on  the  surface  by  irri- 
tation, at  least  against  one  another.  A  rift  would 
affect  them  all.  A  disagreeable  impression  had  already 
been  made  by  Uncle  Bill  not  coming  in  to  see  them, 
for  he  had  always  given  them  such  a  welcome,  and 
hurried  to  greet  them  as  if  they  were  a  part  of  his 
own  family,  whom  he  was  glad  to  see  again  after  an 
absence. 

"  I  suppose  it's  about  that  beastly  garden,"  said 
Norman.  "  But  mother  told  me  he  had  written  to  her 
about  it,  and  said  that  he  wasn't  going  on  with  it  now. 
If  he  went  to  see  Uncle  Edmund  on  his  way  home,  it 
can  only  have  been  to  tell  him  so." 

The  implied  criticism  of  her  father  moved  Pamela. 
"  It's  no  use  our  imagining  what  it  is,"  she  said. 
"  Let's  wait  until  we  know." 

"  Yes ;  we  can't  do  anything.    I  suppose  mother  and 


206        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Aunt  Cynthia  can,  though.  They  don't  want  to  quar- 
rel." 

"  Dad  and  Uncle  William  won't  either.  I  should 
think  Uncle  Bill  is  more  easily  upset  than  Dad.  If  he 
is  annoyed  with  him  now,  he  will  have  got  over  it  by 
to-morrow." 

There  was  a  slight  pause.  "  It's  rather  beastly,  you 
know,"  Norman  said.  "  Already,  in  the  few  words 
we've  had  about  it,  I've  been  looking  at  it  from  father's 
point  of  view  and  you  from  Uncle  Edmund's.  I  sup- 
pose it's  natural;  but  what  I  think  is  that  it  can't  be 
anything  serious,  and  there's  no  reason  for  us  to  take 
sides.  I  won't,  anyhow.  I  dare  say  you're  right,  and 
father  is  more  quick-tempered  than  Uncle  Edmund. 
They're  both  jolly  good  sorts,  and  I  don't  think  you'll 
often  find  two  brothers  of  their  age  who  get  on  so  well 
together  as  they  do.  I  suppose  I'm  rather  like  father 
myself.  I've  often  said  things  you  haven't  liked,  but 
I've  been  sorry  for  them  afterwards." 

This  touched  her.  It  was  one  of  the  things  that  she 
loved  about  Norman — his  quick  reactions  at  the  call  of 
affection.  She  had  sometimes  been  guilty  of  arousing 
his  annoyance,  so  that  she  might  see  him  come  round 
to  her  again.  "  I'm  sure  we  needn't  worry  ourselves," 
she  said,  with  more  agreement  in  her  tone  than  she  had 
used  before.  "  Uncle  Bill  not  coming  in  to  see  us  was 
so  unusual  that  we  are  making  more  of  it  than  it  can 
possibly  mean.  Supposing  they  were  both  angry  with 
one  another  just  now,  it  can't  possibly  last.  Even  if 
they  didn't  calm  down  at  once  themselves,  mother  and 
Auntie  Eleanor  wouldn't  let  them  go  on  with  it." 


THE  RIFT  207 

Norman  laughed  at  that.  "  And  if  they  couldn't 
stop  them,  we  should,"  he  said.  "  We're  all  like  one 
family.  Nothing  could  separate  us  for  long." 

When  they  came  to  the  iron  gate  where  the  park 
ended,  it  was  to  find  it  open.  "  Oh,  there's  Dad !  "  said 
Pamela,  and  called  out  a  greeting  to  him  as  they  passed 
through.  "  I'm  so  glad,  Norman.  He  isn't  keeping 
out  of  your  way.  He  must  have  got  over  it  already." 

She  ran  back  to  her  father  when  the  car  stopped 
before  the  door,  and  put  her  arm  through  his.  "  Have 
you  been  lonely  without  us,  darling?  "  she  said.  "  I'll 
stay  with  you  till  Norman  goes  through  again.  I  know 
he  isn't  coming  in." 

It  was  in  his  usual  rather  expressionless  voice  that 
he  asked  her:  "  Had  a  good  evening?  The  children  and 
I  practised  archery,  with  some  old  bows  and  arrows 
they  found  upstairs.  I  think  we  must  set  that  up 
properly." 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  her  to  find  him  like  this. 
When  Norman  came  back  slowly  through  the  gate,  he 
thanked  him  for  bringing  them  home,  and  bid  him  good- 
night in  his  usual  way.  She  could  see  that  Norman 
was  relieved  too.  There  had  been  if  not  an  actual  quar- 
rel something  very  like  it,  but  this  was  the  way  in 
which  such  unfortunate  occurrences  between  elders 
should  be  treated,  with  nothing  of  it  allowed  to  be  seen 
by  those  who  looked  up  to  them.  She  could  not  help 
comparing  his  attitude  with  that  of  Uncle  William, 
who  had  taken  it  in  such  different  fashion.  Her 
father's  dignity  and  self-control  seemed  to  her  to  ex- 
hibit itself  plainly  beside  his  unwillingness  to  show  him- 


208        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

self  under  his  annoyance.  It  was  not  difficult  to  judge 
which  of  the  two  was  more  likely  to  have  been  in  the 
right. 

They  shut  the  gate  and  went  back  to  the  house. 
Colonel  Eldridge  kissed  her  good-night.  "  I'll  go  and 
have  a  word  with  mother,"  he  said. 

Yes,  something  had  happened,  and  her  father  and 
mother  would  talk  it  over  together.  And  very  soon  it 
would  all  be  put  right.  Uncle  William  and  Auntie 
Eleanor  were  also  probably  talking  it  over,  and  she 
would  certainly  bring  him  to  the  right  frame  of  mind. 
He  was  such  a  good  sport,  though  without  the  essen- 
tial wisdom  that  showed  up  so  plainly  in  her  father. 
He  must  have  been  in  the  wrong;  but  he  was  so  gener- 
ous and  so  affectionate  that  it  would  not  take  him  long 
to  see  it  and  to  say  so. 

As  for  Norman,  his  uncle's  greeting  had  removed 
his  discomfort  entirely.  The  best  of  friends  were  apt 
to  fall  out  occasionally,  and  if  that  had  happened  be- 
tween his  father  and  his  uncle,  it  was  nothing  to  worry 
about.  He  dismissed  them  from  his  mind  as  he  sped 
down  the  drive,  until  he  had  to  slow  up  for  that  part 
of  the  road  which  was  under  repair,  when  it  occurred 
to  him  that  this  was  probably  what  the  row  was  about. 
The  workmen  who  had  been  engaged  for  work  at  the 
Grange  had  been  snooped  for  work  at  the  Hall.  Really, 
that  was  rather  thick !  There  was  no  doubt  that  Uncle 
Edmund  had  an  arbitrary  way  with  him;  but  he  was  a 
thoroughly  good  old  sort,  all  the  same.  Norman  had 
many  kindnesses  to  remember  from  him,  from  his  early 
boyhood,  when  country  pursuits  had  not  come  to  him 


THE  RIFT  209 

so  readily  as  they  did  now,  and  during  his  visits  to  the 
Hall  it  had  always  been  thoughtfully  arranged  that  he 
should  have  all  possible  opportunities  for  enjoying  him- 
self. 

He  did  not  accelerate  to  his  former  pace  when  he 
had  passed  over  the  loose  stones  but  leant  back  in  his 
seat  and  crawled  along,  so  as  to  give  himself  up  to  the 
romance  of  the  summer  night,  and  all  the  moving 
thoughts  that  his  surrender  to  it  would  bring  him. 
The  young  moon  had  not  long  since  risen,  and  bathed 
the  undulating  spaces  of  the  park  in  a  soft,  silvery 
sheen.  The  night  coolness  after  the  heat  of  the  day 
brought  sweet,  sharp  scents  to  his  nostrils.  The  still 
beauty  of  the  night  seemed  to  be  inviting  him  to  some- 
thing more  than  a  solitary  appreciation  of  it.  He 
wished  he  had  suggested  that  they  should  go  for  a 
longer  drive.  He  and  Pam  both  loved  the  beauty  of 
the  earth,  and  would  have  expressed  their  love  for  this 
sweet  aspect  of  it  to  one  another,  heightening  their  own 
appreciations,  as  they  did  with  every  new  discovery 
they  made  about  truth  and  beauty.  Pam  was  a  girl  in 
a  thousand.  His  thoughts  dwelt  upon  her,  though  he 
had  thought  of  inviting  them  to  the  contemplation  of 
another  figure.  As  an  only  child  he  was  lucky  to  have 
these  girl  cousins  at  the  Hall,  in  place  of  sisters,  and 
especially  Pam,  whom  he  had  loved  since  she  was  a  tiny 
child,  Pam,  who  had  grown  up  to  take  so  many  of  her 
ideas  and  opinions  from  him,  as  a  girl  should,  with  one 
much  older,  who  had  seen  more  of  the  world  than  she 
had.  Pam  was  grown  up  now ;  sometimes  she  expressed 
ideas  of  her  own,  and  was  inclined  to  assert  them,  as 


210        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

she  had  not  been  wont  to  do.  That  made  her  more 
interesting,  for  he  would  not  have  had  her  a  mere  echo 
of  himself;  and  he  knew  that,  for  all  her  little  charm- 
ing airs  of  independence,  she  stili  looked  up  to  him  and 
admired  him,  which  was  right  too,  for  although  there 
were  many  better  fellows  than  himself,  he  had  taught 
her  to  accept  the  right  pattern.  Pam  would  be  throw- 
ing herself  away  if  she  chose  from  another  one.  He 
was  glad  that  the  danger  from  Horsham's  incipient 
suit  seemed  to  be  over.  It  was  odd  that  he  should  be 
coming  to  prefer  Judith,  who,  in  spite  of  her  beauty, 
had  none  of  the  bright  charm  and  cleverness  of  dear 
Pam;  but  Horsham  certainly  wasn't  good  enough  for 
her,  though  he  would  do  very  well  for  Judith.  As  for 
that  outsider,  Fred  Comfrey  .  .  .  ! 

Norman  accelerated  here,  and  did  not  slow  down 
again  until  he  had  reached  the  elaborate  iron  gates 
which  gave  access  to  the  Grange.  He  had  had  the  idea 
of  a  long  moonlight  drive  by  himself,  with  his  thoughts 
to  keep  him  company,  but  changed  his  mind  now,  and 
went  in. 

As  he  entered  the  brightly  lit  hall,  the  remembrance 
of  the  occurrences  of  half  an  hour  before  returned  to 
him.  He  hadn't  seen  his  father  yet,  who  would  prob- 
ably be  in  his  room,  for  he  never  went  to  bed  early. 
He  would  go  in  and  find  out  all  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

CRISIS 

Mas.  ELDEIDGE  was  waiting  for  her  husband  in  his 
room,  where  he  usually  sat  for  an  hour  or  so  after  she 
had  gone  to  bed.  The  lamps  were  lit  and  the  curtains 
drawn.  She  was  standing  by  the  fireplace,  and  still 
wore  her  cloak  over  her  evening  gown.  She  looked 
amazingly  young  for  her  years  as  she  stood  there  in 
her  graceful  evening  guise,  with  an  expression  of  almost 
childish  alarm  in  her  eyes,  looking  up  at  him  expect- 
antly. 

"  Did  you  see  William  ?  "  he  asked  her  shortly. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  He  wouldn't  come  in  to  us.  We 
came  away  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  he  had 
come,  without  seeing  him." 

"Ah!" 

He  was  very  quiet  in  speech  and  manner,  with  am  air 
as  it  struck  her,  of  great  depression.  She  could  not  be 
sure,  until  he  had  spoken,  of  what  had  happened,  that 
he  had  not  something  deeply  to  regret  upon  his  own 
part. 

"  Better  sit  down,"  he  said,  "  and  I'll  tell  you  about 
it.  Until  William  apologizes  to  me  for  things  he  has 
said,  and  dismisses  that  man  Coombe  for  his  insolence, 
I  won't  see  him  or  have  anything  to  do  with  him.  But 
I  don't  want  you  or  the  children  to  make  any  differ- 
ence. Let's  hope  Eleanor  will  bring  him  to  reason;  I 

211 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

know  she  has  a  good  influence  over  him.  She  may  not 
want  to  meet  me;  I've  thought  of  that.  But  I  should 
like  you  to  go  to  the  Grange  as  usual.  I  don't  want 
you  to  quarrel  with  William  either.  We'll  leave  the 
quarrelling  to  him,  as  he  seems  bent  on  it." 

"  Tell  me  what  happened,  dear,"  she  said.  "  He 
came  here  on  his  way  home,  didn't  he?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  with  an  air  of  coming  to  put  everything 
right  by  making  handsome  concessions  over  something 
he  doesn't  care  a  hang  about.  If  I  was  so  unreason- 
able as  to  question  anything  he  had  done  he  would 
give  it  up — of  course.  I  wasn't  to  be  allowed  to  have 
had  any  reason  on  my  side ;  it  didn't  matter  even  that 
he'd  mistaken  me,  and  that  I  hadn't  wanted  to  stop 
what  he  was  doing,  and  had  tried  to  get  it  carried  on. 
He  waved  all  that  aside — didn't  want  to  talk  about  it. 
What  he  did  want  was  very  plain.  He  wanted  to  show 
himself  as  the  large-minded  man  who  could  make  all 
allowances  for  a  narrow-minded  fool  of  an  elder  brother 
always  standing  on  his  own  petty  dignity.  However, 
he'd  be  careful  not  to  tread  on  my  corns  in  that  way 
again.  Let's  forget  all  about  it  and  begin  afresh.  I 
would  have  swallowed  all  that — I  did  swallow  it — for 
there  was  some  right  feeling  behind  it;  but  .  .  ." 

"  Edmund  dear,"  she  interrupted  him,  "  before  you 
go  on — oughtn't  we  to  keep  that  in  front  of  us  as 
the  thing  that  really  matters?  William  is  fond  of  you, 
and  you  of  him.  When  Eleanor  and  I  have  been  talk- 
ing it  over,  we  .  .  ." 

"  It  has  got  beyond  that  now,"  he  interrupted  her 
in  his  turn.  "  What  neither  you  nor  Eleanor  can  see 


CRISIS  213 

is  that  William  is  not  the  same  man  as  he  used  to  be. 
What  really  matters,  you  say  1  What  really  matters  is 
what  he  founds  himself  upon ;  and  what  he  founds  him- 
self upon  now  is  his  money,  and  the  place  he  has  made 
for  himself  in  the  world.  Fond  of  me?  Yes,  I  dare  say 
he  is.  He'd  like  to  do  this  or  that  to  help  me  where 
things  are  difficult ;  but  it's  to  be  on  the  understanding 
that  I  knuckle  under  to  him.  I  can't  accept  his  help, 
or  his — or  his  fondness  on  those  terms.  I'm  fond  of 
him,  you  say?  Yes — or  of  what  he  was  before  his 
success  spoilt  him.  When  he  returns  to  that,  things 
shall  be  as  they  were  between  us.  Until  then,  I've  got 
to  take  him  as  he  is  now;  and  without  loss  of  self- 
respect  I  can't  do  it  and  keep  on  terms  with  him." 

"What  was  it,  then,  that  you  quarrelled  about?  " 

He  hesitated  at  the  word.  "  William  may  call  it 
quarrelling,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  it  is  just  a  quarrel 
to  him.  I  shouldn't  admit  that  I  quarrelled.  He  got 
very  excited,  and  I  didn't.  That's  the  plain  truth.  I 
didn't  feel  excited ;  I  felt  very  sad." 

"  My  poor  old  darling !  "  she  said  tenderly.  "  It's 
too  bad  of  William,  with  all  the  troubles  you  have  had 
on  you." 

He  went  on,  in  the  same  quiet,  unemotional  voice: 
"  I  accepted  his  good  will.  Yes,  I  did  that,  though  his 
way  of  expressing  it  was  distasteful  to  me.  But  I  said 
that  I  didn't  want  the  cause  of  complaint  set  aside 
like  that.  I  thought  that  the  reasons  I  had  given 
against  the  extra  garden-making  were  sound ;  but  they 
didn't  override  other  considerations  and  I  should  pre- 
fer it  to  go  on.  That  didn't  seem  to  suit  him.  In  the 


214         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

mood  he  was  in,  I  suppose  he  didn't  want  me  to  be  the 
one  to  make  concessions.  But  I  rather  think,  from 
something  he  let  fall,  that  he  has  something  new  on 
hand  to  interest  him,  and  the  garden  plan  means  noth- 
ing to  him  now;  or  at  any  rate  that  he  would  rather 
give  it  up,  on  the  grounds  of  giving  way  to  me,  than 
go  on  with  it  because  I  have  given  way  to  him.  That's 
one  of  the  ways  in  which  his  money  has  spoilt  him. 
When  a  man  has  a  lot  of  money,  and  doesn't  care  for 
just  piling  it  up,  he's  always  looking  about  for  ways  of 
spending  it;  and  the  last  way  he  has  found  is  all 
important  to  him,  until  he  finds  another  one;  then  his 
interest  in  it  goes.  I'm  sure  that's  how  it  is  with 
William.  But  I  was  firm  about  it.  '  It  may  not  in- 
terest you  now  as  much  as  it  did,'  I  said ;  *  but  the 
way  in  which  it  has  been  thrown  over  will  reflect  upon 
me,  if  it  is  given  up  altogether.  For  one  thing,  there's 
Barton's  Close  already  cut  up,  and  you  can't  leave  it 
like  that.  You  must  either  go  on  with  the  work  or 
put  it  back  as  it  was.  It  has  been  put  about  that  I 
stopped  the  work,  unreasonably ;  and  the  men  who  were 
doing  it  are  now  working  for  me.  If  you  want  to  do 
justice  to  me,  you'll  remove  all  that  talk,  and  you  can 
only  do  it  by  going  on.  When  the  road  has  been 
mended,'  I  said,  '  you  can  take  on  that  extra  labour 
again,  and  get  all  the  digging  and  so  on  done  in  time 
to  plant!'" 

"  Did  he  make  any  fuss  about  the  men  being  taken 
on  for  the  drive  ?  " 

"  It  .was  one  of  the  things  that  he  had  put  aside, 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  as  if  I  had  done  something 


CRISIS  215 

that  I  ought  not  to  have  done,  but  he  would  overlook 
it  with  the  rest.  That  was  why  I  mentioned  it.  I 
wasn't  going  to  justify  myself  about  it,  but  I  said: 
*  The  men  wouldn't  have  gone  straight  back  to  work  for 
you  after  being  sent  away ;  but  they  will  when  the  time 
comes,  if  I  talk  to  them.'  He  didn't  quite  like  that 
either.  He  was  gradually  losing  his  position  as  being 
entirely  in  the  right,  but  giving  way  because  it  wasn't 
worth  while  to  come  up  against  me  in  something  that 
didn't  matter.  It  does  matter,  and  I  was  determined 
not  to  close  it  up  on  those  terms. 

"  At  last  he  agreed  to  go  on,  but  by  that  time  he  had 
lost  a  good  deal  of  his — what  shall  I  say? — expansive 
manner,  and  gave  in  grudgingly.  Then  he  was  for 
going  home,  and  if  it  could  have  been  settled  at  that, 
there  would  have  been  an  end  of  the  affair.  I  had  left 
Coombe  out  of  it  until  then,  for  I  didn't  want  it  com- 
plicated by  something  that  I  thought  would  probably 
be  new  to  him  altogether.  I  said :  *  There's  one  thing, 
William,  that  I  must  ask  you  to  do  and  that  is  to  send 
Coombe  about  his  business.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him 
the  work  would  have  been  going  on  now.  You  can 
easily  satisfy  yourself  about  that,'  I  said,  '  and  I  don't 
press  it.  But  Coombe  spoke  of  me  openly  with  the 
grossest  impertinence,  and  in  a  way  that  you  would 
have  resented  just  as  much  as  if  you  had  heard  it.  I've 
held  my  hand,'  I  said ;  '  I  left  it  till  you  came  down. 
But  something  has  got  to  be  done  about  it  now.' ' 

"  You  didn't  tell  me,  dear,  that  you  were  going  to 
say  that  Coombe  must  be  sent  away." 

"I  didn't  talk  to  you  much  about  Coombe,  did  I?   I 


216        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

took  it  for  granted  that  William  would  dismiss  him 
when  he  knew  what  sort  of  man  he  was.  Servants  may 
talk  about  you  behind  your  back,  and  I  dare  say  most 
of  them  do.  But  when  it  is  brought  to  your  notice 
you  can't  shut  your  eyes  to  it.  If  I  had  heard  one  of 
mine  speaking  of  William  in  the  way  that  fellow  spoke 
of  me,  I  should  have  sent  him  about  his  business  in 
double-quick  time,  however  useful  he  was  to  me." 

"  Did  William  refuse  to  do  it?  " 

"  He  haggled  about  it.  He  had  always  found 
Coombe  perfectly  respectful.  Surely  I  was  mistaken. 
He  couldn't  have  said  what  he  was  reported  to  have 
said.  If  I  showed  annoyance  at  all  perhaps  I  showed 
it  then;  but  I  had  myself  in  hand.  I  knew  that  if  I 
got  into  the  excited  state  that  he  was  beginning  to 
get  into  then,  it  was  all  up.  Besides,  I  was  determined 
that  he  should  get  rid  of  Coombe.  For  one  thing,  it 
will  be  a  sort  of  test  of  his  sincerity,  for  I  don't  deny 
that  it  will  be  of  some  inconvenience  to  him.  Coombe  is 
a  good  gardener,  and  they  are  not  so  easy  to  get  now. 
But  it's  a  monstrous  idea  that  a  man  who  has  openly 
shown  his  hand  in  that  way  should  be  kept  in  the  place. 
It  would  have  a  bad  effect  all  round.  William  ought 
to  be  able  to  see  that,  and  I  told  him  so." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  exactly  what  the  man  had  said?  " 

"  I  told  him  the  worst  of  it.  I  said :  *  One  of  the 
things  that  was  repeated  to  me  was  that  I  was  jealous 
of  your  money  and  your  title,  and  I  should  stop  you 
doing  anything  you  wanted  to  do  in  Hayslope  if  I  pos- 
sibly could.  Are  you  going  to  keep  in  your  service  a 
man  who  has  said  a  thing  like  that  about  me  ? '  I 


CRISIS  217 

asked  h^m.  He  said  he  didn't  believe  it  had  been  said ; 
somebody  was  trying  to  stir  up  mischief.  I  said :  '  I'm 
afraid,  William,  that  your  money  and  your  title  have 
had  an  influence  in  this  place  that  isn't  exactly  what 
you  think  it  to  be.  This  man  Coombe  has  only  let 
some  of  it  out.  Still,'  I  said,  *  he's  let  it  out  in  such  a 
way  that  it  can't  be  passed  over.  The  only  way  you 
can  possibly  put  it  right  is  to  show  that  you  are  not 
going  to  stand  that  sort  of  talk,  and  the  only  way  you 
can  do  that  is  to  send  Mr.  Coombe  marching.  And 
that's  what  you'll  do,5  I  said,  *  if  you  mean  what 
you  have  been  saying  about  wanting  to  put  things 
straight  between  us,  and  to  work  in  with  me  here 
at  Hayslope.'  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  with  a  sigh,  **  I  think  you  were 
right  there." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  that  was  too  much  for  him. 
It  was  the  end  of  anything  like  reasonable  talk  on 
his  part.  Every  now  and  then  he  seemed  to  be  trying 
to  pull  himself  together,  as  when  he  tried  to  get  from 
me  who  had  heard  those  words  said ;  but  when  I  told 
him,  he  said  that  I  had  only  got  them  third-hand,  and 
it  wouldn't  be  fair  on  Coombe  to  sack  him  without  giv- 
ing him  a  chance  to  defend  himself.  I  said  I  shouldn't 
expect  him  to  do  anything  but  deny  it  all.  c  And  with 
all  respect  to  you,  William,'  I  said,  '  I'm  not  going  to 
make  you  a  judge  between  me  and  your  servant.  You 
can  ask  old  Jackson,  if  you  like,  what  happened;  but 
even  by  doing  that  you'll  be  appearing  to  doubt  my 
word,  and  you  won't  want  to  do  it  if  you're  ready  to 
act  rightly  by  me.  As  long  as  that  man  remains  in 


218        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

your  service,'  I  said,  *  I'm  not  going  near  the  Grange. 
You  owe  it  to  me  to  send  him  away.' ' 

"  Was  that  at  the  end  of  all?  " 

"  No.  He  wouldn't  promise  to  do  it  without  making 
inquiries  for  himself,  and  I  said :  *  Very  well,  then ;  you 
are  putting  yourself  definitely  against  me  here.  I  sup- 
pose you  understand  that.  How  do  you  propose  that 
we  shall  go  on  living  next  door  to  one  another  with 
this  between  us  ?  It  will  be  known  all  over  the  place  that 
Coombe  has  insulted  me,  that  you  have  been  told  of  it, 
and  don't  think  it  necessary  to  take  any  steps.  It's 
an  impossible  position,'  I  said." 

"  Surely  he  could  see  that,  couldn't  he?  " 

"  He  had  worked  himself  up  into  such  a  state  then 
that  he  couldn't  see  anything.  After  that,  until  he 
went  away,  he  was  simply  offensive.  He  justified  every- 
thing that  I  have  said  about  his  attitude  towards  me 
and  more.  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  go  over  it  all.  I  should 
think  he'd  be  sorry  when  some  of  the  things  he  said 
come  back  to  him.  There  was  he,  spending  his  life  in 
the  service  of  his  country,  and  here  was  I,  consumed 
with  jealousy  of  him  and  thinking  only  how  I  could 
put  spokes  in  his  wheel.  It's  that  accusation  of  jeal- 
ousy that  I  won't  put  up  with.  He  must  withdraw  it 
and  apologize  for  it  before  I'll  meet  him  again.  It 
means  a  break,  Cynthia.  I  had  time  to  think  it  all 
over  before  you  came  home.  I'm  afraid  it  means  a 
break.  He  brought  Eleanor  into  it.  He  gave  me  to 
understand  that  she  was  up  against  me  for  what  he 
was  pleased  to  call  my  dictatorial  ways ;  it  wasn't  only 
he  who  had  suffered  under  them.  If  that's  so,  she  won't 


CRISIS  219 

try  to  put  it  straight,  and  that's  really  the  only  chance 
with  what  it  has  come  to  now." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  she  will.  I  know  she  will.  She  and 
I  talked  about  it  the  other  day.  I  know  what  is  in  her 
mind.  She  only  meant  that  first  letter  you  wrote,  and 
she  said  that  that  was  all  wiped  out  now.  I  told  you, 
didn't  I?  She  is  longing  for  it  to  be  put  right.  She 
will  do  all  she  can,  I  know." 

"  I  hope  so.  It  will  be  a  very  serious  matter  if  it 
isn't  put  right.  But  I  stand  upon  those  two  points. 
William  must  take  back  that  accusation  of  jealousy. 
It's  a  wrong  thing  for  one  brother  to  say  of  another." 

"  Oh,  yes.  If  it  was  said  in  the  heat  of  the  mo- 
ment ..." 

"  I'm  afraid  that  what  was  said  in  the  heat  of  the 
moment  was  only  what  has  been  building  itself  up  in 
his  mind  for  a  long  time  past.  It's  a  result  of  his  de- 
terioration. Because  I  don't  treat  him  as  I  suppose 
other  people  do  who  worship  success — and  he  has 
come  to  want  that — I'm  jealous  of  his  success.  He 
can't  see  straight  any  longer;  he  can't  see  me  as  I've 
always  been,  and  am  still.  That  is  what  is  between 
us,  and  it  goes  deeper  than  anything  he  has  said  or 
done.  He  isn't  any  longer  the  brother  I  used  to 
have." 

She  saw  that  he  was  deeply  moved  and  that  it  was 
no  time  now  to  say  anything  to  alter  his  mind.  Besides, 
the  one  fact  that  she  and  Eleanor  had  both  insisted  on 
as  lying  behind  everything — the  affection  between  the 
brothers — seemed  no  longer  to  govern  the  situation. 
Their  ways  had  widely  diverged,  and  it  looked  as  if  they 


220         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

had  drifted  apart  in  spirit  as  well  as  in  the  interests 
they  had  once  held  in  common. 

Her  husband  rose  from  his  chair  with  a  deep  sigh, 
and  said  something  that  she  was  unprepared  for. 
"  Thank  God,  that  I've  still  got  you  and  the  children 
left  to  me!" 

She  broke  down  and  shed  tears,  but  dried  them  imme- 
diately, for  she  knew  how  he  disliked  the  expression  of 
emotion,  and  that  his  own  had  been  wrung  from  him 
only  by  deep  feeling.  He  kissed  her  good-night  and  said 
kindly :  "  Don't  take  it  too  much  to  heart.  And  if  you 
and  Eleanor  can  mend  it  between  you,  you  won't  find 
me  implacable.  I've  gone  a  long  way  in  trying  to  put 
it  straight,  and  I'll  go  further  if  it's  necessary." 

"  If  William  will  apologize?  "  she  said,  making  a  last 
effort. 

"  I'll  do  without  an  apology.  After  all,  it  isn't  words 
that  I  want.  Let  him  dismiss  Coombe,  without  any 
further  to-do.  I'll  take  that  as  covering  everything. 
I  dare  say  I  said  things  to  him  that  offended  him  as 
much  as  he  offended  me,  though  it  is  certain  that  I  held 
myself  more  in  hand  than  he  did.  No,  I  don't  want  any 
apology.  But  he  must  dismiss  Coombe." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HONOURS 

THE  difference  between  Colonel  Eldridge's  room  at  the 
Hall  and  his  brother's  at  the  Grange  was  a  good  deal 
more  than  the  difference  between  a  room  in  an  old  house 
and  one  devoted  to  like  uses  in  a  new.  Indeed  if  you 
had  averaged  the  age  of  their  contents,  the  room  at  the 
Grange  would  have  shown  the  earlier  date.  It  had  been 
one  of  the  latest  additions,  when  furniture  and  decora- 
tion had  become  a  source  of  keen  interest  to  its  owner, 
and  there  had  been  no  lack  of  money  to  carry  out  his 
tastes. 

There  was  no  bright  Turkey  carpet  or  American  desk 
here,  as  in  Sir  William's  room  in  London.  He  wrote  his 
letters  at  a  Queen  Anne  Bureau,  bought  at  Christie's 
for  a  sum  that  would  have  paid  for  everything  in  his 
brother's  room  and  left  a  substantial  amount  over. 
There  was  no  insistent  colour,  to  detract  from  the  rich 
subdued  values  of  this  and  other  fine  pieces  of  furniture. 
A  few  pictures  of  the  early  Dutch  school,  which  Sir 
William  particularly  affected,  hung  upon  the  walls, 
panelled  in  dark  oak.  The  electric  light  glowed  and 
sparkled  from  a  lustre  chandelier  of  Waterford  glass. 
The  few  ornaments  admitted  were  also  mostly  of  old 
glass,  and  as  many  of  them  as  were  suitable  held  flowers. 
There  was  a  beautiful  soft-hued  Persian  carpet,  and 
curtains  of  heavy  brocade  of  no  determinate  hue.  Only 

221 


222        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

the  books  in  the  glass-fronted  Sheraton  bookcase  were 
mostly  new,  many  of  them  in  rich  bindings;  and  the 
easy  chairs  and  sofa  were  of  the  latest  word  in  comfort. 
The  room  was  a  success  from  first  to  last,  and  Sir 
William  felt  it  to  be  so  every  time  he  entered  it.  And 
yet  he  still  gained,  whenever  he  went  into  his  brother's 
room  at  the  Hall,  a  sense  of  satisfaction  for  which  he 
would  perhaps  have  exchanged  the  different  sort  of 
pleasure  that  he  took  in  his  own  creation.  That  room, 
with  its  old-fashioned  furniture  of  no  special  value;  its 
faded  and  threadbare  carpet,  and  shabby  easy  chairs ; 
the  untidy  books  on  the  shelves;  the  paintings,  prints 
and  photographs  that  crowded  the  walls ;  the  medley  of 
ornaments  and  knicknacks  on  the  mantelpiece  and  side- 
tables  ;  the  gun-cases,  cartridge-cases,  game-bags,  golf- 
cliibs,  and  all  the  litter  of  a  sportsman's  room ;  the  very 
smell  of  it,  compounded  of  tobacco  smoke  and  leather, 
slightly  musty  paper,  and  slightly  damp  dog,  with  a 
reminder  of  ripe  apples  mysteriously  underlying  it  all — 
it  meant  quiet  and  ease  and  a  thousand  associations  of 
indoor  and  outdoor  life,  hardly  any  of  which  were  rep- 
resented in  the  room  that  was  his.  He  had  even  been 
slightly  ashamed  of  his  room  when  he  had  first  shown  it 
to  his  brother,  who  had  said :  "  It's  very  fine.  I've  never 
seen  a  finer,  for  a  fellow  who  can  live  up  to  it.  It 
wouldn't  do  for  me,  because  I  couldn't  keep  that  old 
shooting- jacket  of  mine  hanging  up  behind  the  door." 
That  was  it,  Sir  William  decided  afterwards.  It  was 
really  a  room  for  a  man  who  liked  to  live  in  a  drawing- 
room,  and  he  didn't  want,  himself,  to  live  always  in  a 
drawing-room,  even  a  man's  drawing-room.  Still,  he 


HONOURS  223 

liked  to  have  beautiful  things  about  him,  and  with  that 
taste  you  had  to  discriminate.  You  couldn't  get  the 
two  kinds  of  attraction  into  the  same  room.  He  had 
the  one,  and  must  do  without  the  other. 

It  was  this  room  that  Norman  entered  when  he  re- 
turned from  the  Hall.  He  had  none  of  the  doubts 
about  it  that  his  father  sometimes  expressed.  His  ap- 
preciations were  finer  than  his  father's.  Sir  William 
had  to  possess  a  treasure  of  art  for  it  to  give  him  the 
acme  of  pleasure.  Norman  loved  it  for  itself,  and  he 
loved  the  beautiful  things  in  this  room.  His  apprecia- 
tion of  it  even  affected  him  now,  as  he  went  in,  though 
he  was  thinking  of  something  else.  His  mother,  in  her 
evening  gown,  sitting  near  a  great  bowl  of  flowers, 
seemed  to  him  to  add  to  its  value ;  his  father,  standing 
over  her,  in  the  light  tweed  suit  in  which  he  had  been 
travelling,  seemed  slightly  out  of  place.  It  was  a  room 
in  which,  if  you  occupied  it  in  the' evening,  you  ought  to 
be  dressed  for  the  evening. 

This  impression,  however,  was  momentary,  for  a 
stronger  one  immediately  took  its  place.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  see  his  father  considerably  disturbed,  and  his 
mother  disturbed  too,  but  by  this  time  less  so  than  his 
sharp  eyes  had  made  her  out  to  be  when  she  had  said 
good-bye  to  his  aunt  and  cousins.  For  she  was  a  quel- 
ler  of  disturbance,  in  herself  and  others,  and  might  by 
this  be  expected  to  have  made  her  mark  upon  his  father, 
though  not  perhaps  to  the  extent  of  quieting  him  al- 
together. 

But  there  were  no  signs  of  disturbance  upon  their 
faces  at  all,  nor  in  their  manner.  His  father  was  lean- 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

ing  up  against  the  mantelpiece,  talking  with  some  show 
of  excitement,  certainly,  but  with  a  smile  upon  his  face ; 
and  she  was  looking  up  at  him,  not  smiling,  but  with 
interest  and  sympathy. 

Sir  William  turned  round,  as  he  came  into  the  room. 
"  Ah,  Norman !  "  he  said.  "  Here  you  are !  I've  been 
waiting  for  you.  You  come  into  this  little  affair,  as 
well  as  mother  and  me.  You'll  want  to  hear  all  about 
it." 

Norman  sat  himself  down,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  "  I  always  want  to  hear  all  about  every- 
thing," he  said. 

His  father  laughed.  "  It's  rather  exciting,"  he  said. 
"  I  really  hadn't  been  expecting  anything  of  the  sort. 
They've  offered  me  a  peerage." 

"  Good  business  !  "  said  Norman  warmly. 

Sir  William  laughed  again.  "  It  will  come  to  you 
some  day,"  he  said.  "  That's  one  reason  why  I  feel 
pleased  about  it." 

"  When  the  time  comes,"  said  Norman,  "  I  shall  grow 
a  little  tiny  chin  beard,  like  the  peers  in  '  lolanthe.' 
But  I  thought  you  were  going  to  be  a  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment, father." 

"  Well,  that  is  being  a  Member  of  Parliament — of 
the  Upper  House.  Oh,  it  isn't — I've  been  telling  mother 
— just  a  mark  of  honour  for  what  I  did  during  the  war. 
They  gave  me  a  knighthood  for  that,  which  closed  the 
account.  They  want  me  for  something  else  now — a  new 
business  altogether.  I  won't  go  into  the  details  of  it  now, 
but  they  want  somebody  in  both  Houses  for  it.  It  was 
just  a  question  in  which  one  I  should  be  of  most  use,  and 


HONOURS  225 

it  was  decided  finally  that  someone  else — I  won't  men- 
tion his  name  yet — should  look  after  it  in  the  Commons, 
and  I  in  the  Lords.  It  will  mean  a  lot  of  work,  but  I 
don't  mind  that.  I  like  work,  and  I  really  think  I  can 
do  something  in  this  job  they've  given  me.  I  know  I 
did  good  work  in  the  war,  and  I've  had  the  feeling 
sometimes — though-  I've  kept  it  to  myself — that  enough 
notice  wasn't  taken  of  it.  I  don't  mean  in  the  way  of 
reward,  for  I  didn't  do  it  for  reward;  but  I  thought 
they  might  have  found  me  of  such  use  that  they  would 
want  to  give  me  something  else  to  do,  when  there's  so 
much  that  wants  doing.  Well,  it  seems  that  they  have- 
n't lost  sight  of  me  at  all ;  they  have  only  been  waiting 
for  an  opportunity.  And  now  it  has  come.  Yes,  I'm 
very  well  pleased  about  it." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Norman.  "And  I'm  jolly  glad  it 
has  come  in  that  way.  If  they  had  given  you  a  peerage 
instead  of  making  you  a  knight,  people  might  have  said 
you  had  paid  out  cash  for  it.  They  wouldn't  have  said 
it  to  you,  but  they  might  have  said  it  to  me.  Fellows 
will  say  anything  to  you  nowadays ;  it's  the  modern 
technique.  I  shall  be  an  Honourable,  I  suppose.  I 
shall  have  to  put  up  with  a  lot  because  of  that.  But 
I  shall  live  it  down  in  time.  When  is  it  coming  off, 
father?" 

Sir  William  did  not  smile  at  this  speech.  "  There's 
a  lot  of  nonsense  talk  about  buying  peerages,"  he 
said.  "  I've  been  saying  to  mother,  only  just  now,  that 
I  doubt  whether  there  has  ever  been  a  single  instance  of 
a  man  putting  down  so  much  money  and  getting  a  peer- 
age for  it,  or  even  a  baronetcy.  Or,  if  things  were  ever 


226         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

done  in  that  way,  they're  certainly  not  now.  As  far 
as  I'm  concerned,  I'd  just  as  soon  have  done  what  I'm 
going  to  do  in  the  Commons  as  in  the  Lords.  For  many 
things  I  would  much  rather  have  been  in  the  Commons. 
But  it  would  have  meant  fighting  an  election,  with  a 
lot  of  time  and  energy  wasted;  and  that  would  have 
cost  money.  On  the  whole,  I  am  glad  it  was  settled  as 
it  has  been.  You're  pleased  too,  Nell,  aren't  you?  I 
wouldn't  have  taken  it,  you  know,  Norman,  without 
first  consulting  your  mother — and  telling  you.  I  have- 
n't yet,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  though  I  promised  to  write, 
either  accepting  or  declining,  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  won't  decline,  fatlier.  I  didn't 
gather  there  was  any  chance  of  that.  I've  got  rather 
keen  on  it  now.  Aren't  you,  Mum  ?  " 

She  smiled  at  him  and  then  at  her  husband,  looking 
up  at  him.  "  I'm  very  glad,"  she  said,  "  that  they  want 
you  again.  And  I  know  that  you  will  do  splendid  work, 
as  you  did  before.  It  will  mean  a  lot  more  work  for 
father,  you  know,  Norman ;  but  it  will  be  work  that  he 
will  do  well  and  enjoy  doing." 

"  You  never  were  a  half-doer,  were  you,  father?  " 
said  Norman.  "  I  should  think  you  would  wake  up  the 
old  Lords  a  bit.  The  general  idea  seems  to  be  that  they 
can  do  with  it.  What  are  you  going  to  call  yourself?  " 

Sir  William's  face  lost  its  brighter  look.  "  There's 
a  slight  difficulty  about  that,"  he  said.  "  In  the  ordi- 
nary way  I  should  take  the  title  of  Hayslope.  It  would 
be  the  natural  thing,  as  we've  been  here  so  long,  and — 
and — considering  that  Hayslope  is  coming  to  me  some 
day.  The  trouble  is  that  it  isn't  mine  yet,  and  I'm 


HONOURS  227 

afraid  the  present  owner  might  object.  He'd  have  no 
reason  to ;  but  ..." 

Norman's  ears  were  disagreeably  affected  by  that 
phrase  "  the  present  owner."  The  dispute,  which  he  had 
forgotten  until  that  moment,  was  serious,  then. 

Lady  Eldridge  spoke,  in  her  quiet  firm  voice.  "  I 
think  you  ought  t6  know,  Norman,"  she  said,  "  that 
Uncle  Edmund  is  showing  himself  hostile  to  your  father. 
Father  went  to  the  Hall  to  tell  him,  first  of  all,  about 
what  has  been  happening,  but  there  was  a  disagreement 
that  had  to  be  cleared  out  of  the  way  first,  and  he  found 
it  impossible  to  do  it." 

Sir  William  shifted  his  position.  "  I've  done  all  I 
can,"  he  said.  "  The  dispute  was  about  a  twopenny 
halfpenny  affair  which  I've  been  trying  to  put  right 
ever  since.  I've  given  way  upon  all  points — more  than 
I  ought  to  have  done ;  but  it's  of  no  use.  Nothing's  of 
any  use.  He's  determined  on  quarrelling.  I  can't  do 
any  more." 

"  I  suppose  it's  about  that  garden,"  said  Norman. 
"What  does  Uncle  Edmund  want  done  about  it?" 

"  What  does  he  want  done  about  it?  I  wish  to  God 
you  could  find  out.  First  of  all  he  makes  himself  of- 
fensive because  I  began  it.  Very  well !  I  overlook  the 
offence  and  I  stop  it.  But  that  doesn't  do.  I'm  told 
I  shall  be  damaging  his  position  in  the  place  if  I  don't 
begin  all  over  again.  Very  well;  I  say  I  will,  when  he 
has  finished  with  the  men  I  took  on  for  the  work,  and  he 
took  from  me  for  his  work.  Then  I'm  told  that  before 
I  do  anything  else  I've  got  to  get  rid  of  the  man  who  has 
been  doing  it  all.  Something  has  come  to  his  ears  that 


228        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Coombe  is  supposed  to  have  said  about  him.  A  wise 
man  would  have  shut  his  ears  to  that  sort  of  gossip; 
but  because  of  it,  I'm  to  dismiss  a  man  who  has  served 
me  well,  out  of  hand,  and  without  giving  him  a  chance 
of  defending  himself.  I  said  I'd  look  into  it;  but  he 
wouldn't  have  that.  To  ask  questions  of  anybody 
would  be  to  doubt  his  word,  though  all  he  has  to  go  on 
is  what  somebody  told  somebody  else  who  told  him. 
It's  perfectly  childish;  but  I'm  not  going  to  bother 
about  it  any  more.  I've  got  far  too  much  to  do.  If  he 
wants  to  break  with  me,  he  must.  7  don't  want  it,  and 
I've  gone  all  lengths  to  pacify  him.  But  the  fact  is 
that  he  isn't  a  big  enough  man  to  be  able  to  see  me 
going  ahead  in  the  world  while  he's  standing  still.  All 
his  life  he  has  considered  himself  my  superior.  He's 
my  elder  brother,  and  I've  given  in  to  him.  I've  given 
in  to  him  over  this,  up  to  the  limit.  But  now  he  asks 
too  much.  I  shall  just  have  to  go  on,  and  leave  him  out 
of  account." 

"  If  we  weren't  all  living  at  Hayslope,"  Lady  Eld- 
ridge  said,  "  it  would  be  easy  to  keep  apart  for  a  time, 
and  the  friction  would  die  down.  What  we  must  do  is 
to  make  the  best  of  it  until  Uncle  Edmund  becomes  more 
reasonable.  Neither  you  nor  I,  Norman,  need  take 
notice  of  it  unless  we  are  forced  to.  Father  wants  us 
to  treat  it  in  that  way." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Sir  William.  "  He  can't  visit  my 
sins  upon  you;  and  I  certainly  don't  want  to  visit  his 
upon  Cynthia  and  the  girls.  You  must  go  on  as  much 
as  possible  as  before.  He  won't  come  here,  and  I  shan't 
go  to  the  Hall.  That's  all  the  difference  it  need  make, 


HONOURS  229 

and  when  we  have  gone  on  for  some  time  like  that,  I  dare 
say  he  will  come  round — see  he's  been  making  a  fool  of 
himself."  He  paused  for  a  moment.  "  I  know  you're 
not  used  to  hearing  me  talk  of  him  like  that,  but  I  really 
can't  help  myself.  I've  been  sorry  for  him  lately,  and 
have  done  my  best  to  help  him  over  the  troubles  and 
difficulties  he  has  had.  But  none  of  that  seems  to  count 
for  anything.  He  was  so — so  coldly  and  obstinately 
determined  to  have  his  own  way  this  evening  that  it 
thoroughly  upset  me.  He  seems  to  have  nothing  in  him 
to  respond  to  the  feeling  I  have  always  had  for  him — 
no  kindness,  no  generosity.  I'm  not  used  to  losing  my 
temper,  but  I'm  afraid  I  did  lose  it  with  him  this  evening 
— his  arrogance  worked  me  up  to  such  an  extent.  No 
doubt  that  will  all  be  brought  up  against  me.  Actually, 
I  came  away  without  telling  him  what  I  had  gone  there 
to  tell  him.  That  will  be  brought  up  against  me  too. 
I  really  can't  cope  with  it  any  longer.  It's  an  infernal 
nuisance  that  this  place,  which  would  be  more  than  ever 
a  recreation  to  me  now,  should  only  be  turned  into  a 
worry.  But  I  won't  have  it  so.  I'm  not  coming  down 
here  to  be  plunged  into  little  local  bothers,  which  take 
more  settling  than  any  of  the  big  things  I  have  to  deal 
with.  For  the  present  he  and  I  had  better  keep  apart." 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  the  only  way — for  the  present," 
said  Lady  Eldridge.  "  But  it  is  a  very  unhappy  state 
of  things." 

Norman  had  listened  to  his  father's  speech  not  with- 
out discomfort,  which  was  increased  by  his  mother's 
acceptance  of  it.  "  You  and  Uncle  Edmund  have  al- 
ways been  good  pals,"  he  said.  "  I  should  have  thought 


230         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

mother  and  Aunt  Cynthia  might  do  something  together 
to  put  him  right.  I  expect  he  would  want  to  behave  de- 
cently, if  he  saw  the  way." 

"  I'm  quite  ready  to  leave  it  to  them,"  said  Sir  Wil- 
liam. "  If  they  can  bring  him  to  reason  I'll  put  it  all 
aside — any  time.  It's  all  I  want  to  do.  But  there's 
one  thing  I  won't  do,  and  that's  to  dismiss  Coombe  off- 
hand on  his  orders.  I  shall  have  him  up  to-morrow,  and 
hear  his  story.  And  I  shall  ask  that  old  Jackson  what 
happened.  I'm  kindly  permitted  to  do  that.  If  I  find 
Coombe  has  gone  altogether  too  far,  I  shall  consider 
what  to  do  next.  But  I'm  not  going  to  be  hectored  and 
pressed  to  act  hastily  on  a  one-sided  second  or  third 
hand  statement.  I've  a  pretty  good  idea  of  what  did 
happen.  Edmund  goes  down  to  find  the  men  working 
at  the  garden;  he  examines  Coombe  about  it  in  an  ar- 
rogant sort  of  way,  and  shows  him  plainly  that  he's 
annoyed  with  me — he  wouldn't  mind  that,  though  it's 
Use  majeste  to  breathe  a  word  of  criticism  against  him. 
Then  when  he's  gone,  Coombe,  who  after  all  owes  loyalty 
to  me  and  not  to  him,  lets  something  drop  before  men 
who  take  it  up  and  make  mischief  of  it  to  score  off  him 
— perhaps  because  he  was  getting  rid  of  them,  though 
he  was  acting  under  orders  there.  Oh,  it  isn't  worth 
while  going  into  it  all.  I'm  sick  to  death  of  the  whole 
business.  Here  we  are  now,  going  over  and  over  it, 
when  there's  something  of  real  interest  to  ourselves  to 
talk  over.  We'd  better  go  to  bed,  I  think.  I'm  afraid 
I've  worked  myself  up  again.  To-morrow  I  dare  say  I 
shall  be  able  to  see  it  all  more  calmly.  I  can't  to-night." 

When  Norman  went  to  his  room  he  did  not  imme- 


HONOURS  231 

diately  get  ready  to  go  to  bed.  The  window  attracted 
him,  open  to  all  the  loveliness  of  the  summer  night,  and 
he  went  and  leant  out  of  it,  taking  into  his  nostrils  the 
scent  of  the  dew-steeped  earth,  and  into  his  ears  the 
little  noises  that  a  nature-lover  can  perceive  and  dis- 
tinguish, where  to  others  there  is  only  silence. 

The  world  was  so  beautiful,  and  life  was  so  full  and 
interesting,  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  be  affected 
overmuch  by  either  of  the  factors  that  had  just  been 
introduced  into  it.  The  honour  that  was  coming  to  his 
father  he  thought  a  very  proper  one,  and  he  had  seen 
that  he  was  pleased  about  it,  not  only  because  of  the 
work  that  it  would  enable  him  to  do.  Norman  had  no 
fault  to  find  with  that.  It  would  be  rather  fun  to  call 
yourself  Lord  Something-or-other,  though  the  thrill 
would  probably  pass  off  sooner  than  you  expected.  It 
would  even  be  rather  fun  to  be  called  "  the  Honourable  " 
though  that  would  no  doubt  pass  off  too — rather  more 
quickly.  That  seemed  to  be  about  all  there  was  to  it; 
but  there  had  been  so  many  peerages  created  of  late 
years  that  there  had  even  come  to  be  something  to  de- 
precate about  such  handles  to  your  name.  You  were 
always  coming  across  fellows  you  had  never  heard  of 
before  who  called  themselves,  quite  legitimately,  "  the 
Honourable."  He  would  be  one  of  them  now,  and  he 
grinned  to  himself  as  he  imagined  the  chaff  to  which 
he  would  be  subjected  on  that  account,  and  formulated 
a  few  of  the  replies  he  would  make  to  it. 

But  he  had  soon  exhausted  the  subject,  and  his  smile 
faded  as  that  other  troublesome  affair  took  its  place  in 
his  mind. 


232         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

He  didn't  like  that  at  all.  It  seemed  to  contradict 
all  the  jolly  things  that  were  connected  in  his  mind  with 
his  uncle,  who  was  stiffer  in  manner  than  his  father,  but 
so  kind-hearted  underneath  it  all.  He  had  never  thought 
of  him  as  he  had  been  reflected  in  his  father's  speech, 
and  it  was  difficult  to  think  about  him  like  that  now, 
though  he  certainly  seemed  to  be  behaving  in  a  way 
that  could  scarcely  be  defended. 

His  window  overlooked  the  wooded  valley  that  lay 
between  the  two  houses,  and  the  opposite  hill.  A  corner 
of  the  Hall  could  be  seen  from  it.  His  thoughts  went 
out  to  his  cousins,  asleep  there,  and  especially  to  Pam, 
whom  he  loved  more  than  the  others.  He  and  Pam 
were  as  close  friends  as  they  had  always  been.  He 
couldn't  do  without  Pam.  He  always  wanted  to  tell 
her  everything  that  had  happened  to  him,  as  he  supposed 
fellows  who  had  favourite  sisters  did.  But  he  was  not 
quite  so  sure  now  of  her  always  adopting  his  views. 
She  was  getting  together  a  collection  of  views  of  her 
own.  How  would  she  take  this? 

It  was  not  necessary  to  accept  seriously  what  she  had 
said  this  evening  about  their  backing  up  their  respective 
parents  in  any  dispute  between  them,  and  quarrelling 
with  each  other  because  of  their  quarrel.  Her  mother 
and  his  wouldn't  do  that.  They  would  try  to  get  at 
the  rights  of  the  case.  There  must  be  a  right  and 
a  wrong  somewhere,  and  it  was  probable  that  there  was 
some  of  each  on  both  sides.  He  had  only  heard  his 
father's  story  so  far,  and  Pam  would  only  hear  her 
father's.  They  ought  to  put  their  heads  together  and 
balance  the  two. 


HONOURS  233 

He  thought  over  this  for  some  time,  and  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  they  were  not  likely  to  agree,  which 
somewhat  depressed  him.  Then  he  thought  it  over 
further  still,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  only  thing 
to  say  to  Pam  was :  "  You  and  I  can't  get  at  the  rights 
of  it,  so  let's  leave  it  alone  altogether,  and  by  and  by 
it  will  right  itself.  And  above  all,  don't  let  it  make  any 
difference  to  us." 

Would  Pam  accept  that,  as  the  course  laid  down  by 
his  superior  wisdom?  A  year  or  two  ago,  she  certainly 
would  have  done  so.  If  she  didn't  now,  it  would  seem 
as  if  he  had  lost  some  of  his  influence  over  her. 

Hoping  that  she  would,  but  a  little  doubtful  of  it, 
Norman  presently  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

FEED    COMFEEY 

"  SIB  WILLIAM  ELDEIDGE,  who  was  recently  raised  to 
the  peerage,  has  taken  the  title  Lord  Eldridge  of  Hay- 
slope." 

Mr.  Comfrey  read  out  this  item  of  information  from 
his  newspaper,  as  he  sat  at  breakfast  with  his  wife  and 
his  son,  and  expressed  his  satisfaction  over  it.  "  I'm 
glad  it  has  been  settled  like  that,"  he  said.  "  He  will 
simply  be  called  Lord  Eldridge,  and  there  can't  possi- 
bly be  any  objection  to  it.  Lord  Hayslope  would 
have  made  a  good  title,  but  under  the  circumstances  it 
would  hardly  have  done." 

"  I  don't  see  why  not,"  said  Mrs.  Comfrey.  "  It 
would  be  ridiculous  of  Colonel  Eldridge  to  object,  and 
he'd  have  no  grounds  for  it  either." 

Mr.  Comfrey  was  a  mild-mannered  man,  who  took 
his  opinions  upon  worldly  affairs  very  much  on  his 
wife's  recommendation;  but  as  she  took  hers  upon 
ecclesiastical  affairs  chiefly  on  his,  he  never  felt  his 
self-respect  wounded  by  her  somewhat  peremptory 
methods.  She  was  a  short,  broad  woman  with  a  some- 
what masculine  type  of  countenance,  which,  indeed, 
had  been  reproduced  with  surprising  fidelity  in  her  son. 
She  might  have  been  expected,  from  her  appearance, 
to  be  immovable  in  whatever  opinions  she  did  hold,  in 
face  of  whatever  opposition.  But  she  was  very  apt  to 

234 


FRED  COMFREY  235 

weaken  on  them  if  they  proved  unwelcome  to  those 
with  whom  she  wished  to  stand  well.  Perhaps  if  her 
husband  had  ever  tried  to  controvert  them  he  might 
have  secured  an  occasional  option  upon  views  of  his 
own;  but  he  would  have  had  to  do  so  long  before  this, 
for  by  now  she  had  established  her  ascendancy.  Fred 
seemed  to  pay  no  respect  to  them  at  all,  with  the  con- 
sequence that  she  often  wavered  before  him.  But  they 
remained  good  friends.  She  admired  her  son,  built 
in  her  own  image,  and,  if  he  did  not  admire  her,  he 
liked  her  treatment  of  him  since  he  had  returned  home, 
which  was  very  different  from  what  it  had  been  when 
he  was  a  boy. 

Fred's  whole  attitude  towards  his  home  had  changed 
since  his  boyhood.  Hayslope  was  a  college  living,  and 
a  small  one  at  the  best  of  times.  Mr.  Comfrey,  who 
had  gained  no  particular  scholastic  honour,  would  not 
have  been  offered  it  if  its  emoluments  had  been 
enough  to  attract  a  bigger  gun.  He  had  scarcely  any 
money  of  his  own  to  supplement  them,  but  his  wife 
had  brought  him  a  few  hundred  a  year,  with  which 
they  had  managed  to  get  along.  There  had  never  been 
enough  for  anything  but  a  skimped  existence,  and  Fred 
had  not  enjoyed  the  same  advantages  as  those  of  other 
sons  of  the  clergy  in  the  parishes  around  Hayslope, 
still  less  of  the  well-endowed  laity.  He  had  been  glad 
enough  to  get  away,  at  an  early  age,  and  not  for  some 
years  had  had  any  desire  to  come  back  again. 

But  after  a  time,  his  memories  had  softened.  His 
home  life  had  been  dull  and  meagre,  but  the  incon- 
venient, sparsely-furnished  old  house  with  its  shady 


236        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

garden  gradually  grew  upon  him  during  his  hard  exile ; 
and  all  around  it  was  the  country  in  which  he  had  tasted 
some  of  the  delights  which  better-endowed  youth  en- 
joyed so  fully.  When  he  did  come  back  he  had  money 
of  his  own.  His  mother  made  no  difficulty  about  ac- 
cepting a  substantial  payment  from  him  for  his  board, 
which  removed  the  effect  of  scraping  from  the  Vicarage 
household  arrangements ;  and  he  did  pretty  well  as  he 
liked  at  home,  which  he  had  never  been  allowed  to  do 
before.  It  was  pleasant  enough  to  idle  there  during 
the  months  of  his  convalescence,  and  to  feel  that  he 
need  not  hurry  them. 

And  there  was  the  Hall,  which  had  always  provided 
him  with  an  outlet  into  the  kind  of  life  denied  to  one 
of  his  parentage.  If  it  had  been  a  place  of  desire  to 
him  in  his  youth,  it  was  a  thousand  times  more  so  now, 
for  it  enshrined  Pamela,  who  threw  her  sweet  radiance 
upon  everything  about  her. 

For  one  who  had  lived  roughly,  as  he  had,  and  mostly 
with  men  for  years  past,  it  was  a  revelation  of  quiet- 
ness and  happiness  to  be  taken  in  upon  intimate  terms 
to  such  a  life  as  was  led  at  the  Hall.  It  was  happiness 
of  a  sort  that  he  had  never  imagined  for  himself.  It 
was  not  entirely  because  of  Pamela  that  he  hugged 
himself  upon  the  memory  of  those  hours  he  had  spent 
in  the  schoolroom,  helping  the  children  with  their  games, 
or  of  other  hours  in  other  rooms  of  the  quiet,  spacious 
house  and  in  the  summer  playground  of  the  garden. 
Love  had  softened  this  young  man,  not  cut  out  by 
nature,  it  would  have  seemed,  to  tread  the  gentler  ways 
of  life.  Love  had  transformed  for  him  even  the  shabby 


FRED  COMFREY  237 

rooms  and  overshaded  surroundings  of  his  own  home, 
since  Pamela  had  enlightened  them  with  her  presence. 
He  had  thought  of  himself  as  staying  there  only  so 
long  as  his  health  required  it,  and  then  leaving  it 
again  to  plunge  into  the  excitements  of  the  career 
that  he  had  marked  out  for  himself.  But  still  he  lin- 
gered on,  though  now  he  was  nearly  strong  again,  and 
would  soon  be  ready  for  the  fray.  He  did  not  suppose 
that  he  would  have  any  chance  in  the  pursuit  upon 
which  his  mind  was  set  until  he  had  something  more 
definite  than  at  present  to  lay  before  Pamela's  par- 
ents; nor  did  he  suppose  himself  as  yet  to  have  made 
any  impression  upon  Pamela  herself  in  the  way  he  was 
determined  upon.  It  would  be  better  for  him  to  go 
away  for  a  time,  and  to  come  back  every  now  and  then 
with  something  done  to  recommend  himself  further  to 
her  and  to  her  parents.  But  he  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  make  plans  to  go  away  yet. 

"  Colonel  Eldridge  has  never  been  consulted  on  the 
matter,"  said  Fred,  in  answer  to  his  mother's  speech. 
"To  my  mind  he  has  every  right  to  object  to  the  way 
in  which  he  has  been  treated." 

"  It  is  difficult  to  get  at  the  rights  of  the  quarrel," 
said  Mrs.  Comfrey.  "  But  we  all  know  that  Lord 
Eldridge,  as  I  suppose  we  can  call  him  now,  isn't  a 
quarrelsome  man,  and  I'm  sure  nobody  could  call  Lady 
Eldridge  a  quarrelsome  woman." 

Mr.  Comfrey  chipped  in  before  Fred  could  speak. 
"  I  think  it's  a  pity,"  he  said,  "  to  talk  about  a  quarrel 
at  all.  There  has  been  an  unfortunate  misunderstand- 
ing which  I'm  very  sure  will  soon  be  cleared  up." 


238        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  There  has  been  a  quarrel,"  Mrs.  Comfrey  pro- 
nounced, "  and  a  pretty  serious  one.  The  two  brothers 
are  not  on  speaking  terms.  It's  no  good  shutting  your 
eyes  to  facts.  I  suppose  we  shall  keep  out  of  it  as  long 
as  we  can,  but  I  think  we  shall  have  to  take  sides  in  it 
sooner  or  later,  and  I  must  say  I'm  inclined  to  take 
Lord  Eldridge's  side." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  expostulated  the  Vicar.  "  Don't 
talk  about  taking  sides.  I'm  sure  it  isn't  necessary. 
We've  always  been  good  friends  with  both  families.  Do 
let  us  remain  so,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  I  agree  with  mother,"  said  Fred,  at  which  she 
brightened  visibly,  but  drooped  somewhat  when  he 
added :  "  There's  enough  to  go  on,  and  I'm  on  the  side 
of  the  family  at  the  Hall,  all  the  way  and  all  the 
time." 

"  Well,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Comfrey,  "  you  have 
had  the  Hall  almost  as  your  second  home  all  your  life, 
and  I  suppose  it's  natural  that  you  should  think  more 
of  it  than  of  the  Grange,  which  is  new  since  you  went 
away.  But  there's  no  doubt  that  the  Grange  is  a  more 
important  house  now  than  the  Hall,  which  isn't  what 
it  used  to  be  and  won't  be  again  until  Lord  Eldridge 
succeeds  his  brother  there." 

Mr.  Comfrey  made  a  deprecatory  gesture,  and^Fred 
said,  rather  roughly :  "  What  do  I  care  about  all 
that?" 

"  What  I  mean,"  Mrs.  Comfrey  hastened  to  explain 
herself,  "  is  that  with  your  way  to  make  in  business, 
Lord  Eldridge  may  be  very  useful  to  you,  and  it  would 
be  a  pity  to  go  against  him.  Of  course,  if  Hugo  hadn't 


FRED  COMFREY  239 

died  .  .  .  !  What  I  mean  is  that  Colonel  Eldridge 
isn't  the  chief  man  in  Hayslope  any  longer,  and  ..." 

She  tailed  off  ineffectively,  but  picked  herself  up  to 
add :  "  Norman  has  taken  the  place  that  used  to  be 
Hugo's.  You  used  to  be  great  friends  with  Norman." 

"  I  hate  Norman,"  said  Fred,  "  and  always  did.  I 
dare  say  Sir  William  may  be  of  use  to  me  when  I  get 
started.  I  haven't  lost  sight  of  that.  But  I'm  not 
going  to  pay  too  high  a  price  for  his  help.  The  people 
at  the  Hall  are  my  friends,  and  I'm  not  going  back  on 
them." 

He  was  not  offended  by  his  mother's  crudities,  hav- 
ing nurtured  himself  on  crudities  and  practised  them, 
all  his  life.  Nor  was  he  going  to  make  her  partaker  of 
his  secret  hopes,  or  even,  if  he  could  help  it,  give  her 
cause  for  suspecting  his  desires.  "  Sir  William  was 
quite  decent  to  me,  when  I  saw  him,"  he  said,  "  and 
Lady  Eldridge  has  asked  me — once — to  the  Grange 
since  I've  been  home.  But  look  at  the  welcome  they've 
given  me  at  the  Hall!  I  don't  care  much  for  female 
society;  it's  never  been  in  my  line.  But  as  long  as 
I'm  living  quietly  here,  I  like  to  have  the  Hall  to  go  to ; 
and  I  believe  Colonel  Eldridge  likes  to  see  me  there.  I 
find  plenty  to  talk  to  him  about.  No,  I'm  not  going 
back  on  them." 

Mrs.  Comfrey  expressed  her  appreciation  of  the 
nobility  of  this  attitude.  It  had  occurred  to  her  once 
or  twice  that  Fred  might  be  attracted  by  Pamela,  but 
the  idea  had  taken  no  firm  hold  of  her  mind.  She  knew 
that  he  was  not  a  lady's  man,  as  he  would  have  ex- 
pressed it,  and  besides,  the  difference  in  social  status 


240        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

between  the  Eldridges  and  themselves  had  always  been 
accepted  by  her,  although  she  liked  to  make  use  of  such 
phrases  as,  for  instance,  that  the  Hall  had  always  been 
a  second  house  to  Fred.  The  Eldridges,  living  now  in 
a  far  more  restricted  way  than  before,  had  come  to 
have  less  value  in  her  eyes ;  but  they  were  still  a  good 
way  above  the  level  upon  which  Fred  would  be  likely  to 
look  when  thoughts  of  matrimony  engaged  him.  His 
reference  now  to  talks  with  Colonel  Eldridge  confirmed 
her  view  that  he  went  to  the  Hall  for  the  reasons  that 
he  said  he  did,  and  not  for  the  sake  of  Pamela  in  par- 
ticular. But  she  brought  in  Pamela's  name,  just  to  see 
how  he  would  take  it. 

"  Pamela  being  so  thick  with  Norman,"  she  said,  "  I 
dare  say  they  will  do  more  to  keep  the  peace  than  even 
Lady  Eldridge  and  Mrs.  Eldridge." 

"  I  shouldn't  count  too  much  on  that  if  I  were  you," 
said  Fred.  "  Pamela  takes  her  father's  side,  and  she's 
quite  right  too.  I  don't  pretend  to  know  what  she 
thinks  about  it  all,  because  I  haven't  asked  her,  but  it's 
my  opinion  that  she's  getting  a  bit  sick  of  Norman's 
swank.  He's  always  been  a  sort  of  tin  god  to  those 
girls,  and  now  they're  older  they're  getting  tired  of 
taking  all  their  opinions  from  him.  At  least  that's 
how  it  seems  to  me  with  Pam." 

Mr.  Comfrey  arose  apologetically  from  the  table. 
"  I  think  I'll  leave  you,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  said,  and 
as  they  did  not  mind,  he  left  them. 

Fred's  speech  had  been  unconcerned  enough  until  it 
had  come  to  that  last  word.  He  had  not  been  used  to 
calling  Pamela  "  Pam,"  and  there  was  just  a  something 


FRED  COMFREY  241 

in  his  voice  to  lead  Mrs.  Comf rey  a  little  further  in  her 
investigations.  "  Pamela  has  grown  into  a  very  pretty 
girl,"  she  said.  "  I  wonder  if  there  is  anything  in  what 
they  say  about  her  and  Lord  Horsham." 

"  It's  not  at  all  unlikely,"  said  Fred,  in  such  a  tone 
as  to  remove  the  last  traces  of  suspicion  from  her, 
though  for  his  own  comfort  he  allowed  himself  to  add: 
"  I  don't  think  she  has  any  idea  of  it  yet  though." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  match  for  her,"  said  Mrs.  Com- 
frey;  which  ended  the  conversation. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Fred  made  his  way  to  the  Hall. 
It  had  been  hard  work  for  him  to  conduct  himself  thus 
unconcernedly  with  his  parents,  for  something  exciting 
was  before  him,  on  which  all  his  mind  had  been  working 
ever  since  he  had  last  seen  Pamela  the  evening  before. 

It  was  not  true  that  he  had  not  talked  over  the 
current  affair  with  her.  He  had  borne  himself  in  such 
a  way,  with  a  mixture  of  reticence  and  sympathy,  that 
she  had  first  of  all  mentioned  openly  to  him  the  fact 
of  the  dispute,  which  she  had  not  intended  to  do,  and 
had  then  discussed  it  with  him  in  all  its  bearings.  What 
he  had  told  his  mother  of  his  being  on  the  side  of  the 
Hall  was  entirely  true,  for  he  had  shown  himself  such 
an  ardent  partisan  that  Pamela  preferred  him  as  a 
receptacle  for  her  confidences  to  anybody  else.  So  far, 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  had  held  to  their  custom  of 
keeping  their  children  out  of  such  discussions.  Their 
hold  on  it  was  already  weakening,  for  it  was  becoming 
impossible  to  ignore  the  dispute  altogether.  Pamela 
and  her  mother  had  talked  about  it,  but  not  yet  with- 
out many  reticences  on  Mrs.  Eldridge's  side.  Pamela 


242         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

and  Judith  had  agreed  that  it  was  a  nuisance.  The 
children  were  supposed  to  know  nothing.  Miss  Baldwin 
didn't  count. 

There  remained  Norman.  Norman  had  behaved  well 
about  it,  Pamela  thought.  At  the  very  outset  he  had 
said  to  her  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  and  her  to 
get  at  the  rights  of  it,  and  that  he  didn't  particularly 
want  to.  He  looked  up  to  his  uncle  almost  as  much 
as  to  his  own  father,  and  hated  to  think  of  either  of 
them  being  discovered  in  the  wrong.  They,  too,  had 
better  leave  it  out  of  account,  and  go  on  being  pals 
as  before.  Then  Norman  had  gone  away  on  a  visit,  and 
had  written  to  Pam,  a  long  letter  from  a  country  house 
in  which  Lady  Margaret  Joliffe  was  also  staying.  He 
had  written  a  good  deal  about  her,  but  the  most 
important  of  his  statements  was  that  there  was  another 
fellow  there  whose  attentions  she  seemed  to  prefer  to 
his.  "  My  proud  spirit  won't  brook  rivalry,"  was  his 
comment  upon  the  situation.  "  I  must  be  all  or  noth- 
ing. By  the  time  I  come  home  I  shall  be  able  to  tell 
you  whether  I'm  all  or  nothing."  He  had  come  home 
two  days  before,  and  had  told  her  with  a  grin  that  his 
fate  still  hung  in  the  balance ;  and  she  divined  that  that 
affair  had  passed  its  zenith,  and  would  soon  fade  away 
like  the  rest. 

Oh,  if  only  this  unhappy  cleavage  could  have  been 
mended,  how  pleased  she  would  have  been  to  have  Nor- 
man back  at  Hayslope  for  the  full  month  he  now  in- 
tended to  stay  there !  His  letter  had  been  very  grate- 
ful to  her.  No  mention  had  been  made  of  the  trouble 
at  home.  He  had  written  with  his  old-time  affection, 


FRED  COMFREY  243 

as  if  she  were  the  one  person  in  the  world  to  whom  he 
could  go  with  everything,  and  to  whom  he  wanted  to  go 
with  everything.  At  that  distance  away,  what  he 
omitted  from  his  letters  may  have  seemed  of  small  im- 
portance, but  when  he  returned  it  could  not  be  so.  It 
was  bound  to  come  up  between  them  sooner  or  later, 
and  when  it  did  come  up  they  could  no  longer  be  abso- 
lutely frank  and  outspoken  together.  Each  of  them 
must  be  very  careful  not  to  say  anything  that  could 
arouse  opposition  in  the  other. 

For  a  fortnight  had  passed  since  the  brothers  had 
met  and  quarrelled,  and  nothing  had  been  mended  yet, 
though  attempts  had  been  made. 

Sir  William  had  written  to  Colonel  Eldridge  the  next 
day,  telling  him  first  of  all  of  the  honour  that  was  to  be 
conferred  on  him,  which  he  said  he  had  intended  to  do 
the  evening  before.  He  regretted  exceedingly  what  had 
passed  between  them,  and  if  he  had  said  anything  in  the 
heat  of  the  moment  that  had  offended  his  brother  he 
regretted  that  too,  and  apologized  for  it.  He  had  given 
careful  consideration  to  his  brother's  demand  that  he 
should  dismiss  his  head  gardener,  and,  as  he  understood 
the  demand,  without  giving  the  man  the  chance  of  de- 
fending himself  against  the  accusation  brought  against 
him,  and  had  decided  not  to  act  in  a  way  that  he 
thought  would  be  arbitrary  and  unjust.  But  he  had 
examined  Coombe  upon  what  he  was  reported  to  have 
said  and  had  no  doubt  that  it  had  been  much  exagger- 
ated. Something  Coombe  had  admitted  to  have  said 
that  was  not  respectful  to  Colonel  Eldridge,  after  he  had 
come  down  to  where  he  was  working  and  expressed  his 


244        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

annoyance  at  what  was  being  done.  Sir  William  hoped 
very  much  that  his  brother  would  take  into  consider- 
ation the  fact,  of  which  he  seemed  to  have  lost  sight, 
that  the  slight  put  upon  him,  Sir  William,  in  this  ex- 
pression of  annoyance  at  what  he  was  doing  was  con- 
siderable. He  had  not  allowed  Coombe  to  repeat  to 
him  what  had  actually  been  said  to  him,  but  had  given 
him  a  pretty  stiff  rebuke  for  the  disrespect  he  had 
admitted  to.  Might  not  this  be  allowed  now  to  close 
the  account?  It  was  a  most  disagreeable  thing  for 
them  to  be  at  loggerheads  in  this  way,  after  all  the 
years  of  close  intimacy  that  had  existed  between  them 
and  their  families.  For  his  part  he  was  ready  to  forget 
all  about  it,  the  moment  his  brother  gave  him  the 
chance. 

To  which  Colonel  Eldridge  had  replied  shortly  that 
he  congratulated  his  brother  upon  the  honour  he  was 
about  to  receive,  and  that  he  must  abide  by  the  stipula- 
tion he  had  made  before  they  could  return  to  their  olcf 
terms  with  one  another. 

Then  Lady  Eldridge  had  gone  to  the  Hall,  and  had 
a  long  conversation  with  him  and  his  sister-in-law. 
Cynthia  had  seemed  to  want  him  to  give  way,  but  he 
had  refused  to  do  so,  firmly  though  not  with  the  slight- 
est show  of  temper.  He  had,  in  fact,  treated  Lady 
Eldridge  with  the  most  courteous  consideration,  but 
he  had  put  her  in  somewhat  of  a  difficulty.  "  I  don't 
think  William  sees  the  situation  very  clearly,"  he  had 
said.  "  I  haven't  so  many  outside  matters  to  occupy 
my  thoughts  as  he  has,  and  I  do  see  it  clearly.  Have 
either  of  you  ever  expressed  to  one  another  this  idea 


FRED  COMFREY 

that  I  am  jealous  of  William's  success  in  life,  which  has 
been  so  much  greater  than  mine?  " 

She  had  cast  down  her  eyes  and  there  had  been  an 
awkward  pause,  which  he  had  cut  short  by  saying: 
"  That  feeling  has  never  existed  in  my  mind,  and  there- 
fore I  can't  have  shown  it.  That's  what's  between  us, 
Eleanor — that  unjust  and  damaging  accusation. 
William  sees  nothing  more  than  disrespect  in  what  his 
servant  said  to  me,  but  I  see  that  accusation  defended 
in  him,  and  as  long  as  he's  here,  allowed  to  spread 
unchecked.  William  can  only  put  that  right  by  dis- 
missing Coombe.  It's  no  good  writing  any  more  or 
talking  any  more  until  that's  done.'* 

So  Coombe  remained  the  obstacle  to  at  least  a  formal 
reconciliation.  For  he  did  remain,  and  it  may  be  sup- 
posed that  his  tongue  was  not  idle  in  the  village,  where, 
however,  he  was  not  liked.  Colonel  Eldridge  was;  far 
more  liked  than  his  brother,  in  spite  of  Sir  William's 
open-handed  ways.  He  was  stiff,  but  he  was  kind.  He 
lived  among  his  people,  and  they  knew  that  he  was  in- 
terested in  all  of  them,  though  he  was  never  hail- 
fellow-well-met  with  anybody.  There  was  growing  up  a 
strong  body  of  support  for  him,  in  a  controversy  into 
which  the  village  folk  had  a  far  clearer  insight  than 
might  have  been  supposed.  If  he  had  escaped  the 
jealousy  that  had  been  laid  to  his  charge,  they  had  not, 
on  his  account.  It  was  hard  lines  that  the  Squire  at 
the  Hall  should  have  to  give  up  this  and  that  that 
he'd  always  been  accustomed  to,  and  Sir  William  at  the 
Grange  should  be  rolling  in  money.  It  didn't  seem 
right  somehow.  And  the  Colonel  tad  been  out  and 


246        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

fought  in  the  war,  and  lost  his  only  son  too,  while  Sir 
William  had  stopped  at  home  and  made  money.  No,  it 
didn't  seem  right,  did  it?  And  now  they'd  gone  and 
made  him  lord  and  all;  and  when  the  Colonel  died  he 
would  step  into  the  Hall,  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  and  the 
young  ladies  would  be  turned  out.  And  so  he'd  have 
everything,  which  didn't  hardly  seem  fair,  whichever 
way  you  looked  at  it. 

That  was  the  way  the  majority  of  opinion  went, 
and  when  the  affair  at  Barton's  Close  came  to  give 
point  to  it,  crystallized  into  still  sharper  criticism.  No 
wonder  the  Colonel  had  objected  to  that — money 
chucked  away  in  cutting  up  good  pasture,  and  more 
labour  wanted  for  a  garden  that  wouldn't  be  no  use  to 
anybody,  while  the  garden  at  the  Hall  was  run  with  two 
men  short  now,  and  the  road  through  the  park  was 
getting  into  a  dreadful  state.  It  was  generally  sup- 
posed, and  approved  of,  that  Colonel  Eldridge  had 
peremptorily  stopped  the  garden-making  at  Barton's 
Close.  Quite  right  too!  Time  he  stopped  something! 
He  hadn't  thought  of  the  men  who'd  lose  their  jobs  by 
it ;  but  see  how  he'd  put  that  right !  He  hadn't  wanted 
to  spend  the  money  on  the  road,  but  he  wasn't  one  to 
see  a  man  out  of  a  job  if  he'd  got  one  to  give  him. 
They'd  work  for  him  too,  and  at  less  wages  than  they 
could  get  working  under  a  man  like  Coombe.  Coombe 
ought  to  have  been  sent  off  for  what  he'd  let  out  about 
the  Colonel.  It  wasn't  the  way  to  talk,  for  a  man 
who'd  been  brought  into  the  place  when  there  were  other 
men  there  who  could  have  done  his  job  just  as  well  as 
he  could.  Sir  William  would  have  sacked  him  too,  if 


FRED  COMFREY  247 

he'd  done  what  he  ought.  They  did  say  that  he'd 
quarrelled  with  the  Colonel  for  stopping  him  cutting 
up  Barton's  Close.  Sir  William  was  getting  a  bit  too 
big  for  his  boots.  That  was  about  the  size  of  it,  and 
it  wouldn't  do  him  any  harm  to  be  told  so. 

Thus  the  commonalty  of  Hayslope,  not  knowing 
everything  that  had  passed,  and  splitting  no  hairs,  but 
ready  to  endorse  in  their  Squire  a  more  unreasoned  atti- 
tude than  he  had  actually  yet  taken.  It  was  not  sus- 
pected, either  at  the  Hall  or  the  Grange  how  keen  was 
the  interest  in  the  dispute,  or  even  that  it  was  known 
that  the  brothers  were  keeping  apart ;  for  there  was  still 
coming  and  going  between  the  two  houses  as  before,  and 
a  great  carefulness  that  no  significant  word  should  be 
dropped  before  the  servants.  But  Pamela,  going  about 
in  the  village,  had  sensed  the  feeling  of  expectation. 
Coombe,  she  felt  sure,  was  still  making  mischief.  If 
only  Uncle  William  would  send  him  away,  there  might 
be  a  chance  of  their  all  settling  down  again. 

Treading  very  delicately,  she  put  it  to  Norman. 
Couldn't  they  do  something  to  find  out  what  was  going 
on?  Uncle  William  wouldn't  believe  that  Coombe  had 
made  mischief.  But  if  it  was  proved  to  him  that  he 
had! 

Norman  took  refuge  in  their  compact,  but  in  de- 
fence of  it  made  it  plain  that  he  thought  her  father's 
demand  unreasonable.  This  warned  her  that  she 
mustn't  look  to  him  for  any  help  now.  He  was  on  his 
father's  side,  as  she  was  on  hers.  She  couldn't  blame 
him,  but  it  was  good-bye,  for  the  present,  to  the  free- 
dom and  confidence  that  had  always  existed  between 


248        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

them.     She  felt  sad,  when  he  had  left  her,  but  a  little 
'hurt  with  him  too,  because  he  had  failed  her. 

Fred  wouldn't  fail  her.  He  showed  himself  eager  to 
help  her  in  any  way  that  she  might  suggest.  What 
they  were  going  to  do  this  morning  was  to  see  old  Jack- 
son together,  and  get  from  him  exactly  what  had  hap- 
pened at  first,  and  what  was  happening  now. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

INVESTIGATION 

OLD  Jackson  was  in  the  gravel-pit,  half  a  mile  up  the 
road  from  the  lodge  gates,  which  made  a  walk  long 
enough  for  Fred  to  have  thought  over  with  fluttering 
anticipations,  ever  since  Pamela  had  asked  him  to  see 
Jackson  with  her.  It  was  she  who  had  suggested  that 
it  would  be  better  to  talk  to  him  there  rather  than  in 
the  openness  of  the  park,  when  the  carts  had  brought 
down  their  loads. 

They  started  off  across  the  park  by  a  footpath  which 
Jed  to  the  road  higher  up  the  hill.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  that  Fred  had  been  alone  with  her,  but  they  had 
not  been  for  a  walk  together  before,  as  this  ostensibly 
was.  "  We're  going  for  a  little  walk,"  Pamela  said,  her 
stick  in  her  hand,  as  they  met  her  father  coming  along 
that  very  path,  and  he  seemed  to  see  nothing  to  remark 
in  the  thrilling  fact.  "  Come  back  to  lunch,"  he  said  to 
Fred.  "  There's  something  I  want  to  consult  you 
about." 

Colonel  Eldridge  had  treated  Fred  with  a  courtesy 
that  had  gratified  him  exceedingly,  and  such  an  invi- 
tation would  have  given  him  food  for  pleasurable  con- 
jecture if  his  mind  had  not  been  full  of  something  else. 
"  Poor  old  Dad,"  said  Pamela,  when  they  left  him  and 
went  on.  "  I  suppose  it's  this  horrid  quarrel  he  wants 
to  talk  about.  There's  nobody  he  can  unburden  him- 

249 


250        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

self  to  about  it.  I  shall  be  glad  if  he  does  to  you. 
You  must  encourage  him  to  talk  quite  freely." 

Yes,  Fred  would  do  that.  Things  were  going  extra- 
ordinarily well  for  him.  It  was  a  great  deal  to  have 
Pamela  confiding  in  him.  He  would  hardly  have  been 
undergoing  this  moving  intimate  experience  of  a  coun- 
try walk  with  her,  but  for  the  disturbance  in  which 
Hayslope  was  involved.  If  they  were  also  to  bring  him 
into  close  personal  touch  with  her  father,  they  would 
be  doing  him  very  good  service. 

Pamela  moved  along  beside  him  in  the  active  grace 
of  her  young  girlhood,  talking  to  him  quietly  and  con- 
fidentially. He  answered  her  in  the  same  tone,  alert 
to  make  the  response  that  she  would  have  him  make; 
but  only  a  part  of  his  mind  was  upon  the  subject  that 
alone  held  hers.  The  rest  of  it  was  in  a  ferment  of 
incredulous  wonder  and  self-gratulation.  He  stole  a 
glance  at  her  every  now  and  then  and  wondered  afresh 
at  finding  himself  in  this  sort  of  companionship. 
Everything  about  her  was  fresh  and  sweet  and  virginal. 
In  all  his  mean  experience  of  sex  he  had  never  thought 
to  have  been  so  moved  by  the  mere  proximity  of  such 
a  girl  as  this;  in  all  his  selfish,  uninspired  experience 
of  life  he  had  never  thought  to  have  been  thrilled  by  a 
pure  emotion.  She  made  him  hate  the  thought  of  evil, 
and  turn  aw,ay  with  disgust  from  his  baser  self.  If  he 
was  ready  to  plot  and  scheme  to  get  her,  and  would 
not  be  too  particular  what  weapons  he  used  if  it  came 
to  a  fight,  once  having  made  her  his  own,  he  would 
tend  the  spiritual  flame  that  she  had  lighted  in  him. 
Already  he  was  a  better  man  because  of  her.  He  knew 


INVESTIGATION  251 

it  and  rejoiced  in  it,  who  had  not  previously  desired  to 
be  anything  better  than  he  was. 

They  left  the  park  and  went  for  a  short  distance  up 
the  shady  road,  to  where  a  track  ran  off  among  the 
trees  to  the  shallow  pit  at  the  end  of  it.  The  rich  red 
gravel  lay  in  ruled  banks  and  mounds  where  it  had 
been  dug  out,  and  the  men  who  were  working  at  it 
were  filling  the  two  carts  which  were  to  carry  it  down 
to  the  park.  Old  Jackson  was  working  as  hard  as 
anyone,  as  well  as  directing  it  all.  He  was  a  fine  figure 
of  a  man,  with  his  upright  sinewy  frame  kept  supple 
by  use.  His  face  had  that  delicacy  of  line  and  feature 
which  is  to  be  found  among  the  true  sons  of  the  soil, 
perhaps  as  often  as  the  result  of  generations  of  blue 
blood.  His  eyes  were  clear  and  keen,  with  a  look  in 
them  not  far  removed  from  the  innocent  look  of  a  child. 
Such  men  as  he  may  take  orders  from  others  all  their 
lives,  but  they  never  lose  their  dignity  of  manhood. 

The  carts  were  nearly  filled.  Fred  and  Pamela 
waited  until  they  were  ready  to  be  moved,  and  then 
Fred  told  Jackson  that  they  wanted  to  speak  to  him. 
Would  he  send  the  carts  on  and  stay  behind  for  a  few 
minutes? 

He  gave  the  orders  and  returned  to  them,  putting 
on  his  coat.  "Have  you  got  a  pipe?"  asked  Fred, 
offering  him  his  opened  tobacco  pouch;  but  with  a 
glance  at  Pamela  he  refused.  Fred  put  the  pouch  back 
into  his  pocket,  and  his  own  pipe  with  it,  and  began 
rather  hurriedly:  "Miss  Eldridge  wants  to  ask  you  a 
few  questions.  Perhaps  you  know  that  there's  some 
misunderstanding  between  Colonel  Eldridge  and  Sir 


252        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

William  about  Coombe,  Sir  William's  gardener.  If  you 
can  tell  her  exactly  what  happened  when  Colonel 
Eldridge  came  down  to  Barton's  Close,  she  thinks  she 
may  be  able  to  do  something  to  straighten  it  all  out. 
She'll  see  you  don't  suffer  from  anything  you  tell  her." 

Some  such  opening  had  been  agreed  upon  between 
them,  but  Pamela's  brows  came  slightly  together  at 
the  last  sentence.  "  I  do  want  to  know  exactly  what 
Coombe  did  say,"  she  added.  "  I  know  you  didn't  like 
his  talking  as  he  did  about  father,  so  I  thought  you'd 
help  us  about  it  if  you  could." 

The  old  man  looked  away.  There  was  something 
pathetic  in  his  expression  of  patience  and  slight  puzzle- 
ment. "  I  told  the  Colonel,"  he  said  slowly.  "  He's 
always  been  a  kind  master  to  me,  and  I'm  glad  to  be 
took  on  by  him  again." 

"  Yes,  you  wouldn't  like  to  hear  him  spoken  against," 
said  Fred.  "  Sir  William  wouldn't  either,  if  he  knew 
of  it.  But  Coombe  seems  to  be  a  clever  sort  of  man 
in  the  mischief  he  makes,  and  he's  persuaded  Sir 
William  that  he  didn't  say  anything  that  could  be 
objected  to.  But  you  heard  him,  didn't  you?  " 

The  blue  eyes  came  slowly  round  to  Fred  and  rested 
on  him  again,  and  did  not  leave  him  this  time.  "  I  don't 
know  as  I  want  to  make  that  known  to  all  and  sun- 
dry," said  old  Jackson.  "  There's  a  many  asks  me,  but 
I  say  to  them  as  I  say  to  you,  that  the  Colonel's  been  a 
good  master  to  me,  and  I  don't  like  such  things  said." 

Pamela  understood  him  and  said  quickly,  before 
Fred  could  speak :  "  You  don't  want  to  repeat  it,  do 
you?  I'm  glad  you  don't.  But  ..." 


INVESTIGATION  253 

"But  there  are  others  who  heard  it,"  said  Fred. 
'*  And  it  must  have  been  put  about  all  over  the  place. 
You  won't  do  Colonel  Eldridge  any  harm  by  telling  us." 

The  old  man's  face  changed  slightly  as  he  looked  at 
Pamela.  "  Don't  you  go  for  to  mix  yourself  up  in  it, 
Missy,"  he  said.  "  Nobody  scarcely  don't  pay  atten- 
tion to  what  that  there  Coombe  says  about  the  Colonel. 
He  don't  come  from  these  parts,  and  we  knows  the 
Colonel."  He  turned  to  Fred  again.  He  seemed  to 
have  found  his  speech  now.  "  'Tain't  for  the  likes  of 
Miss  Pamela  to  be  mixed  up  in  it.  What  comes  to 
your  ears  here  and  there  you  keep  to  yourself,  or  say 
to  others,  and  not  to  her.  None  of  us  who  belongs  to 
Hayslope  don't  want  the  young  ladies  mixed  up  in 
this." 

Fred  ignored  the  rebuke,  which  struck  him  unpleas- 
antly. "Well,  I  belong  to  Hayslope  too,  you  know," 
he  said,  "  though  I've  been  away  from  it  for  a  good 
many  years." 

"  What's  for  the  likes  of  us  ain't  for  the  likes  of 
her,"  returned  the  old  man,  looking  full  at  him.  Then 
he  looked  again  at  Pamela.  "  Don't  you  mix  yourself 
up  in  it,  Missy,"  he  said,  in  the  almost  caressing  tone 
which  he  had  used  towards  her  before.  "  I'll  get  along 
down  to  the  road  now." 

He  took  a  step  away  from  them  and  then  turned 
round  again.  "  I  said  to  young  Norman  yesterday," 
he  said,  "  '  if  you  want  to  hear  the  rights  of  it,'  I  said, 
*  you  can  ask  Dell  or  Chambers,'  I  said.  He'll  tell 
you,  Missy.  '  I  won't  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  it,* 
I  said.  '  You  can  ask  Dell  or  Chambers.'  " 


254         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Fred's  face  wore  a  disagreeable  look  as  he  frowned 
after  the  old  man's  broad  back.  As  a  boy  he  had  played 
with  the  village  lads,  and  held  a  sort  of  leadership 
among  them,  but  more  because  of  his  athletic  prowess 
than  from  any  recognition  on  their  part  of  his  superior 
station.  The  elders  of  the  village,  recognizing  his 
rough  clay,  had  paid  him  hardly  more  respect  than 
if  he  were  one  of  their  own  sons.  It  was  plain  that 
Jackson  considered  that  no  more  was  owing  to  him 
now.  If  not  quite  one  of  themselves,  he  was  not  for  a 
moment  to  be  counted  as  of  the  elect. 

Had  Pamela  understood  the  snub  that  the  old  man 
had  given  him?  He  smoothed  away  the  frown  and 
turned  quickly  to  her.  But  she  was  looking  down,  and 
on  her  face  there  was  a  frown  too  of  perplexity. 

"  Norman  has  been  asking  him  questions,"  she  said. 

"  Norman,"  he  said.  "  I  wonder  why.  And  I  sup- 
pose he  went  to  those  other  two  men.  Of  course  they'll 
tell  him  anything  he  wants  to  hear." 

She  did  not  quite  like  this.  She  started  to  walk 
along  the  track,  Fred  at  her  side,  his  brain  work- 
ing quickly.  "  I  think  the  old  man  is  right,"  he  said. 
"  You  ought  not  to  be  mixed  up  in  this — not  in  the 
way  of  asking  questions  yourself,  I  mean.  Let  me  ask 
them  for  you.  Very  likely,  if  I'd  had  old  Jackson 
alone,  I  could  have  got  something  out  of  him.  I'm 
quite  sure  I  can  out  of  those  other  two,  and  it's  im- 
portant I  should,  now  that  the  enemy  has  got  to  work." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  that  he  had  not 
seen  on  her  face  before,  and  instantly  regretted  having 
called  up.  "  Norman  isn't  an  enemy,"  she  said.  "  If  he 


INVESTIGATION  255 

has  been  asking  questions,  it  is  because  he  wants  to  get 
it  all  cleared  up,  as  much  as  we  do." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said  evenly.  "  I  didn't  mean  any- 
thing else.  But  it  would  be  only  natural  that  he 
should  want  to  see  his  father  justified.  Much  better 
get  at  it  from  another  side.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I'll  see  these  men  in  their  dinner  hour.  I  don't  sup- 
pose it  will  take  very  long  to  get  it  out  of  them.  Then 
I'll  come  straight  up  to  the  Hall,  and  I  shall  be  able 
to  tell  you  before  lunch." 

"  I'm  not  sure  I  wouldn't  rather  see  Norman  first," 
she  said;  but  she  said  it  rather  doubtfully.  Norman 
might  have  told  her  that  he  was  going  to  make  inquiries 
on  his  own  account,  instead  of  saying  that  neither  he 
nor  she  could  do  anything.  Fred  had  offended  her 
in  calling  him  the  enemy,  but  he  was  probably  right 
in  attributing  some  bias  to  Norman.  She  did  not  dis- 
guise from  herself  her  own  bias,  and  when  Fred  said 
again  that  it  would  be  better  to  get  the  story  for  them- 
selves, she  acquiesced. 

"  I'll  go  now,"  he  said,  when  they  came  to  the  gate 
that  led  into  the  park.  "  It's  nearly  a  quarter  to 
twelve,  and  I  shall  catch  them  coming  back.  I  want 
to  go  home  first." 

It  cost  him  something  to  leave  her ;  there  would  have 
been  plenty  of  time  to  walk  with  her  te  the  Hall  and 
back  to  the  village  by  twelve  o'clock.  But  he  knew  he 
could  not  trust  himself  to  hide  his  antagonism  to  Nor- 
man, if  she  were  to  discuss  his  intervention  further. 
He  did  not  want  to  arouse  that  defensive  and  offended 
look  in  her  face  again.  When  he  next  met  her  he 


256        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

expected  to  have  firmer  ground  under  his  feet.  She  was 
already  a  little  doubtful  of  Norman.  He  wasn't  in  the 
least  doubtful.  Of  course  Norman  was  gathering 
material  for  his  side ;  if  not  he  would  have  told  Pamela 
what  he  was  going  to  do.  Probably  he  would  tell  her, 
when  he  had  done  it;  but  Fred  would  have  told  her 
first.  He  had  a  score  to  wipe  off  against  Norman. 

He  did  not  go  to  the  Vicarage,  but  to  the  Hayslope 
Arms,  where  he  was  quite  accustomed  to  making  him- 
self at  home.  On  his  first  arrival  at  Hayslope  he  had 
frequented  it,  picking  up  old  acquaintances  there,  and 
establishing  himself  as  one  who  had  made  his  way  in 
the  world  but  had  not  become  proud  on  that  account. 
The  men  who  had  been  boys  with  him  liked  him  well 
enough,  and  he  was  free  with  his  money.  When  all 
his  thoughts  had  become  centred  on  Pamela,  he  had 
left  off  going  there ;  the  contrast  between  what  had  sat- 
isfied him  in  the  way  of  company  and  what  was  open 
to  him  at  the  Hall  was  too  great.  He  felt  some  slight 
repugnance  now  as  he  entered  the  sanded  bar;  but  he 
was  keen  in  spite  of  it,  for  he  realized  that  the  book 
of  the  village  gossip  was  open  to  him  whenever  he 
liked  to  dip  into  it,  and  that  if  he  had  not  of  late  cut 
himself  off  from  his  old  associates  he  might  have  had 
much  material  to  manipulate.  But  it  would  be  easy 
to  pick  it  all  up,  and  Norman  had  no  such  chances, 
though  those  who  came  in  contact  with  him  liked  him. 

Pamela  took  a  book  into  the  garden,  to  a  seat  which 
commanded  a  view  of  the  drive,  and  waited  with  what 
patience  she  could  muster.  She  felt  a  little  guilty,  but 
allowed  no  patience  with  herself  over  that.  It  seemed 


INVESTIGATION  257 

to  be  she  alone  who  could  straighten  out  this  tangle, 
which  was  making  her  father  so  sad  that  it  wrung  her 
heart  to  see  him.  His  dejected  look  when  he  thought 
himself  unobserved,  still  more  his  forced  cheerfulness 
with  his  children — oh,  it  was  sad  to  see!  And  she 
loved  him;  she  thought  she  loved  him  better  than  any- 
body in  the  world,  better  even  than  her  mother,  over 
whom  she  was  rather  puzzled  at  this  time.  Her  mother 
never  allowed  herself  to  be  unduly  perturbed  about 
anything,  and  met  her  own  troubles  with  a  whimsical 
philosophy  which  Pamela  had  admired  greatly,  since 
she  had  been  old  enough  to  see  that  they  were  such  as 
many  women  would  have  made  themselves  miserable 
over.  Certainly  she  had  lightened  the  burdens  that 
her  husband  had  had  to  bear,  by  showing  herself  happy 
with  what  was  left  to  her,  and  encouraging  her  chil- 
dren to  do  the  same.  She  and  Pam  had  often  talked 
that  over  together.  They  were  never  to  let  him  see 
that  they  missed  anything,  and  her  mother  would  never 
acknowledge  to  her  that  she  did  miss  anything. 

But  in  this  new  trouble  that  admirable  spirit  of  cheer- 
fulness hardly  seemed  adequate,  or  even  suitable.  Pam 
knew  that  her  mother  and  her  aunt  had  essayed  to  put 
it  right,  but  not  having  been  able  to  do  so  they  seemed 
to  accept  it,  and  to  want  as  much  to  be  together  as 
before.  Pam  was  beginning  to  think  that  such  an  inti- 
macy could  only  be  possible  if  it  was  agreed  that 
neither  side  was  more  worthy  of  blame  than  the  other. 
Did  her  mother  take  that  view?  Pamela  couldn't. 
There  might  be  two  sides  to  the  quarrel,  but  what  mat- 
tered was  that  it  bore  far  more  hardly  upon  the  one 


258         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

than  upon  the  other.  She  had  seen  that  quite  plainly 
for  herself.  Her  father  was  depressed  and  saddened 
by  it.  Her  uncle  seemed  to  have  put  it  aside  altogether. 
He  had  been  more  than  usually  kind  and  affectionate 
to  her  on  the  one  occasion  on  which  she  had  been  to 
the  Grange  since  the  split,  obviously  with  the  intention 
of  showing  himself  so.  But  he  had  also  been  in  more 
than  usual  high  spirits.  Of  course  he  was  pleased 
about  his  peerage  and  all  that !  And  it  was  nice  of  him 
— perhaps — to  want  to  show  her  that  the  quarrel  had 
made  no  difference  in  his  feelings  towards  any  of  them, 
except  one.  But  she,  at  least,  could  not  dissociate 
herself  from  that  one;  it  seemed  a  disloyalty  to  go  to 
the  Grange  and  to  be  treated  by  Uncle  William  as  if 
nothing  had  happened,  while  he  stayed  at  home,  alone 
and  sad,  because  so  much  had  happened.  Uncle 
William  was  far  more  free  with  his  expressions  of 
affection  than  her  father  had  ever  been.  His  manner  to 
his  brother  had  always  seemed  to  show  great  affection, 
and  she  had  never  doubted  that  he  felt  it  towards  him. 
But  it  was  he  who  was  showing  himself  almost  unaf- 
fected by  the  estrangement,  while  her  father  was  feeling 
it  deeply. 

The  decision  was  growing  up  in  her  mind  to  talk  to 
her  uncle  herself.  That  was  why  she  wanted  to  find 
out  more  than  she  knew  already  of  what  had  actually 
happened.  She  knew  that  her  father  made  a  point  of 
Coombe's  dismissal.  If  she  could  go  to  him  and  tell 
him  why  she  thought  he  ought  to  give  way  .  .  .  ! 
It  would  be  greatly  daring,  on  the  ground  she  had 
always  occupied  with  him,  when  apparently  her  mother, 


INVESTIGATION  259 

who  must  have  made  some  appeal,  had  failed  to  move 
him.  But  she  knew  that  her  mother  had  taken  no  steps 
to  find  justification  for  her  father's  attitude.  Nobody 
seemed  to  have  thought  of  doing  that  except  herself — 
unless  it  was  Norman.  But  she  could  not  be  sure  of 
Norman,  yet,  though  she  was  quite  unwilling  to  take 
Fred's  view  of  his  investigations. 

She  saw  Fred's  figure  top  the  little  rise  in  the  drive 
which  hid  the  lodge  from  where  she  was  sitting,  and  her 
eyes  rested  upon  it  as  it  approached  and  grew  larger, 
with  a  gaze  of  inquiry,  almost  of  exploration.  She  had 
not  been  unaffected  by  Norman's  freely  expressed  dis- 
like of  Fred ;  but  in  a  matter  of  this  sort  she  must  abide 
by  her  own  knowledge  and  observation.  Fred  had 
been  rather  a  horrid  sort  of  boy,  but  that  ought  not  to 
tell  against  him  if  he  had  turned  himself  into  rather 
a  good  sort  of  man.  She  thought  he  had,  though  there 
seemed  to  be  a  common  streak  in  him  which  slightly 
offended  her  sometimes.  But  surely  a  man  who  was 
not  "  nice,"  after  all  the  hard  experiences  he  had  under- 
gone, would  not  have  shown  himself  so  appreciative  of 
the  quiet  domestic  life  that  they  lived  at  the  Hall.  She 
knew,  of  course,  that  he  admired  her,  and  probably 
frequented  the  Hall  largely  on  her  account.  But  his 
liking  had  never  shown  itself  in  a  way  to  make  her  take 
counsel  of  herself;  and  that  was  another  point  in  his 
favour.  Her  father  liked  him,  and  evidently  trusted 
him,  or  he  would  not  have  wanted  to  consult  him  about 
something,  as  he  was  about  to  do.  And  he  was  whole- 
hearted in  his  defence  of  her  father.  That  was  more  in 
his  favour  than  anything  else.  It  was  enough,  at  any 


260        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

rate,  for  the  present.  She  rose  and  went  to  meet  him, 
not  without  eagerness. 

They  went  back  to  her  seat  and  he  told  her  what  he 
had  discovered,  but  not  how  or  where  he  had  discov- 
ered it. 

The  gist  of  it — very  carefully  imparted,  so  that  at 
no  point  could  she  take  umbrage  at  it — was  that  Nor- 
man had  been  making  his  inquiries  with  the  quite  obvious 
intention  of  proving  that  nothing  had  been  said  that  it 
was  worth  making  such  a  fuss  about.  The  two  men,  in- 
deed, who  did  not  belong  to  the  village,  now  denied 
stoutly  that  Coombe  had  gone  beyond  a  very  mild  pro- 
test at  the  work  being  stopped.  They  seemed  to  be  in 
with  Coombe  again  and  it  was  quite  likely  that  they  were 
expecting  well-paid  work  from  him,  when  they  had  got 
through  with  their  present  job.  Their  denials  had  been 
so  obviously  insincere  that  it  was  scarcely  worth  while 
wasting  time  with  them.  Fred  would  not  suggest  who 
had  primed  them,  but  it  was  quite  plain  that  they  were 
saying  only  what  they  were  expected  to  say,  and  would 
stick  to  it. 

"  If  it  is  so,"  Pam  said,  "  it  must  be  Coombe  who  is 
priming  them.  Of  course  he  would  want  as  little  made 
of  it  as  possible." 

Fred  thought  this  very  likely — with  a  reluctant  air 
that  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  knew  better,  but  didn't 
want  to  say  so. 

"Pegg,  the  other  man,  tells  a  different  story,"  he 
said,  and  repeated  to  her  some  of  the  things  that  had 
been  said  by  Coombe  about  her  father,  which  made  her 
blush  hot  with  resentment.  "  Did  Norman  talk  to 
him?  "  she  asked. 


INVESTIGATION  261 

"Yes." 

"And  did  he  tell  him  that?  " 

"  Well,  no,  he  didn't." 

*'  Why  not  ?  Do  tell  me  everything."  She  was  be- 
coming impatient  over  his  hesitations. 

He  plumped  it  out :  "  Because  he  saw  that  it  wouldn't 
be  well  received.  These  men  know  on  which  side  their 
bread's  buttered,  and  they  are  no.t  going  to  give  them- 
selves away.  Even  old  Jackson — he's  working  for  your 
father  now,  and  hopes  to  be  kept  on,  but  he  doesn't 
want  to  offend  Sir  William.  None  of  them  do.  Pegg 
hopes  to  be  kept  on  here  too,  I  think,  and  he  doesn't 
mind  giving  Coombe  away,  but  he  isn't  going  to  give 
him  away  to  Norman.  That's  how  it  is,  and  it's  no 
good  hiding  it.  I  don't  know  what  Norman  really 
wants,  but  it's  quite  plain  what  these  men  think  he 
wants,  and  that's  to  back  up  his  side  of  the  quarrel. 
Everybody  knows  there  is  a  quarrel  now,  and  nearly 
everybody  is  on  our  side.  I've  found  that  out.  I 
think  you  must  leave  Norman  out  of  it,  if  you're  to  do 
any  good." 

She  thought  this  over,  but  made  no  reply.  "  Is 
Coombe  still  making  mischief?"  she  asked. 

"  He's  rather  frightened,  I  think,  and  has  kept  his 
mouth  shut  lately;  but  everybody  knows  that  he  would 
do  Colonel  Eldridge  any  injury  that  he  could.  They 
think  he  ought  to  be  got  rid  of.  He's  a  bad  influence 
in  the  place." 

Pamela  rose.  "  It's  nearly  lunch  time,"  she  said. 
"  Thank  you  very  much  for  helping  me.  I  must  think 
what  to  do." 


CHAPTER  XX 

A    QUESTION   OF    FINANCE 

"  I  WANTED  to  ask  your  advice." 

Colonel  Eldridge  stood  in  front  of  the  empty  fire- 
place, filling  his  pipe;  Fred  was  in  one  of  the  shabby 
leather  easy  chairs,  smoking  a  cigarette.  The  room 
was  very  quiet  and  retired,  looking  on  to  a  corner  of 
lawn  surrounded  by  banked  rhododendrons;  under  the 
shade  of  a  great  hornbeam. 

Colonel  Eldridge  seemed  to  have  some  difficulty  in 
coming  to  the  point.  He  put  the  lid  carefully  on  his 
old  lead  tobacco  box,  and  lit  his  pipe  from  a  box  of 
matches  on  the  mantelpiece  before  he  spoke  again. 

"  You  and  Hugo  were  friends  together  as  boys,"  he 
said. 

"  Oh,  yes.  And  we  wrote  to  one  another  once  or 
twice  after  I  went  abroad.  I  only  just  missed  him  once 
when  we  were  on  the  Somme.  I  wish  I'd  seen  him  before 
he  was  killed." 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  you  know  that  he  gave  us  a 
lot  of  trouble,  poor  fellow.  At  least,  you  may  have 
heard  something.  I  needn't  go  into  it  all ;  it  was  mostly 
about  money.  He  was  very  extravagant,  and  raced 
and  gambled  and  all  that.  He  was  young;  he'd  have 
got  over  it  in  time,  and  settled  down,  I've  no  doubt.  He 
did  his  job  well  enough ;  I've  got  a  letter  from  his  Colo- 
nel, which  I  was  very  glad  to  have." 

262 


A  QUESTION  OF  FINANCE  263 

He  went  on  for  a  time,  again  apparently  finding  it 
difficult  to  come  to  the  point.  He  did  so  suddenly,  and 
it  was  not  exactly  the  point  that  Fred  had  anticipated, 
from  his  introduction. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  want  to  raise  some  money,"  he  said, 
"  four  hundred  pounds." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fred,  at  random.  "  That  ought  to  be 
easy  enough." 

"  Well,  it  isn't  so  easy  in  these  days."  He  sat  down 
in  the  chair  opposite  to  Fred's,  and  spoke  with  more 
freedom  now.  "  I've  paid  a  good  deal  on  Hugo's  ac- 
count," he  said.  "  Claims  have  kept  coming  in,  and  I 
thought  we  had  come  to  the  end  of  them.  But  I  had 
another  a  few  days  ago.  I've  been  puzzling  my  head 
how  I  was  to  meet  it.  I've  got  to  meet  it,  in  fact  I've 
undertaken  to  do  so  early  next  week.  I  don't  want  to 
go  to  my  lawyers." 

He  came  to  a  stop  again.  Fred's  thoughts  were  very 
busy.  What  was  going  to  be  asked  of  him?  Why 
couldn't  Colonel  Eldridge  go  to  his  lawyers  about  a  sum 
so  small  as  this  for  a  man  of  his  property?  He  had  no 
words  at  his  command  for  the  moment.  His  business 
instincts  and  habits  were  too  strong  for  him  not  to  feel 
slightly,  though  unwillingly,  on  the  defensive. 

But  fortunately  none  were  required  of  him  just  yet. 
"  I  don't  know  what  to  tell  you  first,"  Colonel  Eldridge 
said.  "  Perhaps  I'd  better  tell  you  everything,  though 
I'll  keep  back  names." 

He  took  a  letter  out  of  his  pocket,  and  opened  it. 
Fred  cast  surreptitious  glances,  but  the  letter  was 
held  so  that  he  could  not  see  it. 


264         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  This  is  from  the  mother  of  a  brother  officer  of 
Hugo's,  who  was  killed — some  time  after  he  was.  She 
has  found  among  his  papers  an  I.  O.  U.  of  Hugo's  for 
four  hundred  pounds ;  she  encloses  it.  She  writes  quite 
nicely.  She  has  kept  it  some  time,  not  knowing  quite 
what  to  do  about  it.  She  doesn't  want  the  money ;  but 
she  thinks  it  ought  to  be  paid.  She  would  give  it  to 
some  charity  in  her  son's  name." 

"  An  I.  O.  U.?  "  said  Fred.  "  I  suppose  you've  satis- 
fied yourself — " 

Colonel  Eldridge  cut  him  short.  "  Oh,  I  quite  agree 
with  her,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know  her,  by  the  by,  and 
I  suppose  Hugo  didn't  either,  or  she  would  have  said 
something  about  him — not  only  in  connection  with  this, 
I  mean.  There's  no  need  to  ask  what  the  transaction 
tvas.  Very  likely,  I'm  afraid,  it  was  a  card  debt,  or 
something  of  that  sort.  Anyhow,  the  money  was  owing 
from  him,  and  is  owing  from  me  now.  Her  way  of  deal- 
ing with  it  is  the  best.  I've  promised  to  send  her  a 
cheque  next  week." 

It  seemed  to  Fred  foolish  to  have  done  so,  but  it  was 
no  good  saying  that.  "  There's  nothing,  I  suppose,  to 
come  out  to  Hugo's  detriment,"  he  said.  "  If  you  pay 
it  without  question  it  ought  to  be  understood  that  it 
isn't  talked  about." 

"  As  far  as  she  is  concerned,  I  should  think  she'd 
want  it  talked  about  as  little  as  I  should.  If  they  were 
gambling  together  it  might  just  as  well  have  been  her 
son  who  had  owed  it.  But  you've  put  your  finger  on 
the  trouble,  as  it  happens.  7  don't  want  it  talked  about, 
outside  this  room.  The  fact  is  that  poor  Hugo's  de- 


A  QUESTION  OF  FINANCE  265 

linquencies  have  brought  about  a  state  of  feeling  to- 
wards him  that  gives  me  great  pain.  He  did  some  very 
foolish  things — bad  things,  you  may  say,  if  you  like — 
and  they're  been  exaggerated  into  things  that  he  never 
would  have  done.  I  quarrelled  with  one  of  my  oldest 
friends  about  it.  He  took  back  what  he  said,  and  we've 
come  together  again,  I'm  glad  to  say.  I've  got  Hugo's 
good  name  to  consider.  My  brother  William  has  known 
everything  so  far,  and  he  has  been  very  good  about  it. 
I've  had  to  raise  money  to  pay  off  what  has  been  owing 
— it's  a  very  large  sum  in  all — and  I  couldn't  have  done 
it  without  hia  co-operation,  now  that  he's  in  remainder 
to  this  property.  But  I  know  quite  well  that  he  takes 
a  worse  view  of  Hugo  than  I  think  he's  justified  in 
taking.  I  can't — I  simply  can't  go  to  him  about  this, 
though  it's  a  mere  flea-bite  compared  to  what  has  had 
to  be  paid  already." 

He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  for  the  moment  that  he 
had  cut  himself  off  from  going  to  his  brother  about  any- 
thing. And  he  had  not  told  Fred  that  the  date  upon 
the  claim  he  had  to  meet  was  that  same  black  date  as 
had  seen  the  transaction  over  which  Lord  Crowborough 
had  brought  his  disgraceful  accusations  against  Hugo — 
accusations  which  he  had  been  forced  to  withdraw. 
The  hornet's  nest  must  not  be  stirred  again.  "  No, 
he  mustn't  know  of  this,"  he  said.  "  And  my  lawyers 
mustn't  know  of  it,  for  if  they  did,  he  would." 

"You  couldn't—?" 

"  My  dear  Fred,  I've  been  so  confoundedly  hit  by  the 
war,  and  all  this  coming  on  the  top  of  it,  that  I  simply 
couldn't  raise  a  hundred  pounds  at  this  moment,  let 


266        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

alone  four  hundred,  without  some  sort  of  property  ad- 
justment. And  that  would  mean  disclosing  everything, 
which  I  won't  do  if  I  can  possibly  help  it.  But  I've 
thought  of  this.  I'm  always  getting  money-lender's 
circulars.  You  know  the  sort  of  things,  of  course.  I'm 
not  such  a  fool  as  to  suppose  that  I  can  borrow  money 
in  that  way  on  anything  like  an  ordinary  rate  of  interest. 
But  I'd  pay  very  heavily  to  get  this  money  at  once, 
with  no  security  but  my  word  for  repayment.  Have 
you  ever  had  any  dealings  with  these  people?  I  know 
young  fellows  do.  I  might  quite  well  have  done  it  my- 
self, but  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  never  did.  Hugo  did, 
and  they  fleeced  him  unmercifully.  I  don't  want  to  be 
fleeced;  but  I  can  do  what  they  always  seem  to  want, 
and  that  is  pay  by  regular  instalments.  My  income  is 
pretty  well  fixed  now  for  some  time  to  come.  It's  a 
tight  fit  already,  and  this  will  make  it  tighter,  but  what 
I  can  do  is  to  pay  two  hundred  a  year  until  I've  cleared 
it  off,  with  the  interest." 

Fred  was  ready  with  his  answer.  His  brain  worked 
quickly  in  questions  of  this  kind,  and  he  knew  his  man — 
or  thought  he  did. 

"  Don't  go  to  those  sharks,"  he  said.  "  It's  perfectly 
easy.  I  can  find  you  the  money  at  once.  The  interest 
would  have  to  be  ten  per  cent,  I  think,  but — " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  lend  me  the  money,  you  know." 

Fred  had  thought  that  he  did,  and  thought  so  still. 
But,  of  course,  a  man  in  his  position  would  want  the 
decencies  observed.  "  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  he 
said.  "  But  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  would  suit  me  very 
well  to  do  it.  I've  got  rather  more  than  that  lying  idle 


A  QUESTION  OF  FINANCE  267 

— gratuities,  and  so  on — and  I  couldn't  get  ten  per 
cent  on  it  without  taking  some  trouble,  and  even  then  it 
would  be  more  risky  than  this.  Really,  it  would  be  the 
easiest  way,  sir,  and  I  should  be  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity." 

"  Oh,  you  could  get  more  than  ten  per  cent,  lending 
money  without  security.  I  shouldn't  offer  security,  you 
know.  To  do  that,  I  should  have  to  go  to  my  lawyers." 

"  Your  word  is  security  enough  for  me,  sir.  I  could- 
n't have  a  better  wherever  I  went,  and  I've  been  meaning 
to  go  somewhere  for  the  last  month  or  more.  I'm  a 
business  man.  I  don't  like  having  money  doing  nothing. 
This  would  be  a  business  deal  for  me,  and  at  ten  per 
cent  a  good  one.  I  say  nothing  about  obliging  you.  It 
would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  do  it,  but  I  should  think 
it  rather  cheek  to  offer  it  on  that  account." 

Under  all  the  circumstances,  known  to  Fred  but  un- 
known to  Colonel  Eldridge,  it  was  considerable  cheek  as 
it  was.  One  of  the  circumstances  was  that  Fred  hadn't 
got  four  hundred  pounds  lying  idle,  or  even  forty.  He 
wasn't  that  kind  of  man. 

"  It's  kind  of  you  to  say  that,"  said  Colonel  Eldridge. 
"  Let  me  think  it  over  for  a  moment." 

He  sat  upright  in  his  chair,  which  was  not  a  deep 
one  like  Fred's,  and  looked  into  the  empty  grate,  with 
no  expression  on  his  face  that  could  be  interpreted. 
Fred's  opinion  of  him  lowered  itself  somewhat.  What 
was  the  good  of  keeping  up  this  farce?  Of  course  he 
would  accept.  He  was  lucky  to  have  such  a  chance 
offered  him.  And  Fred  was  lucky  to  be  able  to  offer 
it,  to  Pamela's  father. 


268         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Colonel  Eldridge  turned  his  quiet  direct  eyes  upon 
him.  "  It's  a  very  kind  offer  on  your  part,"  he  said, 
"  For  which  I'm  grateful.  But  I  don't  see  my  way  to 
accepting  it." 

Fred  did  not  understand  in  the  least,  but  knew  some- 
how that  it  would  be  waste  of  time  to  press  his  offer. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  "  But  tell  me  how  I  can  help 
you  in  any  way." 

Again  he  looked  away,  considering.  "  I'm  afraid,"  he 
said,  with  a  little  wry  smile  at  Fred,  "  that  I  hadn't 
thought  it  out  very  clearly.  You  knew  my  poor  Hugo. 
There's  no  one  I  can  talk  to  about  him  quite  plainly." 

Fred  didn't  understand  the  bearings  of  this  either,  but 
he  recognized  a  call  upon  his  sympathy,  to  which  he 
made  haste  to  respond.  His  feelings  were  cold  towards 
the  memory  of  Hugo ;  and  he  was  stirred  to  no  generous 
impulse  towards  the  man  who  had  given  him  a  glimpse 
of  his  loneliness  and  come  to  him,  of  all  people,  to  relieve 
it.  But  he  had  done  well  for  himself,  with  Pamela,  in 
taking  her  father's  side,  and  was  being  given  an  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  still  better  for  himself  with  him. 

He  said  some  nice  things  about  Hugo  in  his  boyhood, 
and  laid  stress  upon  the  sacrifice  he  had  made,  which  had 
wiped  out  all  his  errors.  Colonel  Eldridge  accepted  it 
all,  but  perhaps  it  wasn't  quite  what  he  wanted,  for 
lack  of  the  feeling  behind  it,  which,  if  it  had  been  true, 
would  have  brought  balm  to  him.  "  Well,  I  don't  want 
to  throw  his  name  into  discussion  again,"  he  said. 
"  Perhaps  I  shall  have  to.  I  don't  think  I  could  go  to 
one  of  these  people  and  bargain  with  him.  I  should 
make  a  poor  hand  of  it.  And  I  wouldn't  pay  the  pre- 


A  QUESTION  OF  FINANCE  269 

posterous  terms  that  they  seem  to  demand  when  you 
do  go  to  them.  It  wouldn't  be  right.  I'd  had  some 
idea  that  as  you  know  about  business,  and  all  that,  you 
might  be  able  to  suggest  something.  But  I  hadn't 
thought  of  your  offering  to  find  the  money.  I  could- 
n't—" 

"  I  won't  press  it,"  said  Fred.  "  What  I  could  do 
would  be  to  find  somebody  who  would  advance  it,  on 
suitable  terms.  That  wouldn't  be  difficult.  You  might 
have  to  pay  a  bit  more  than  ten  per  cent,  but  I  should 
try  to  get  a  loan  for  that,  and  I  know  I  could  get  it  for 
twelve." 

He  had  absolved  him  from  having  angled  for  the  offer 
he  had  made,  and  thought  that  it  had  been  refused  be- 
cause it  did  not  consort  with  Colonel  Eldridge's  dignity 
to  accept  a  loan  from  him.  He  "  knew  about  business, 
and  all  that."  He  recognized  the  attitude  of  a  man  to 
whom  all  transactions  outside  those  of  which  he  had 
personal  knowledge  were  a  mystery  known  to  the  elect, 
of  whom  he  was  considered  one.  In  face  of  that  child- 
like ignorance  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  arrange  this 
affair. 

"  I  should  consider  myself  lucky  in  getting  a  loan  at 
twelve  per  cent,  or  even  more.  Do  you  mean  that  you 
really  could  make  it  a  purely  business  transaction — 
get  me  an  introduction,  or  something  of  that  sort?  I 
appreciate  your  very  kind  offer,  of  course ;  but  it  could- 
n't be  purely  a  business  transaction  between  you  and 
me.  Supposing  I  were  to  die,  before  it  was  paid  off — 
one  has  to  think  of  that — the  claim  would  come  upon 
my  estate,  and — well,  you  see  it  wouldn't  do." 


270         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Fred  did  see  that,  from  Colonel  Eldridge's  point  of 
view.  It  would  be  necessary,  but  not  difficult,  to  hide 
his  tracks.  "  All  you  would  owe  to  me  would  be  the 
recommendation,"  he  said.  "  And  I  could  put  it 
through  more  quickly  and  easily  than  you  could  your- 
self. If  you'll  say  the  word  I'll  go  up  to-morrow  and 
arrange  it.  I  shall  bring  you  down  a  paper  to  sign,  and 
then  you  can  deal  straight  with  the  man  I  shall  intro- 
duce the  business  to.  I  shan't  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  it  after  that,  and  I  needn't  say  I  shall  keep  my 
mouth  shut  about  it." 

Colonel  Eldridge  showed  his  relief.  "  I  didn't  think 
you'd  lift  the  weight  off  my  mind  as  readily  as  that," 
he  said,  smiling  at  Fred.  "  I'm  very  deeply  grateful 
to  you.  Poor  Hugo!  It's  the  last  trouble  we  shall 
have  from  him,  I  hope.  It's  odd,  you  know,  that  it 
doesn't  make  me  love  the  boy  less.  It's  as  if  he'd  come 
to  me  himself  and  asked  me  to  get  him  out  of  a  mess.  I 
should  have  wanted  to  keep  it  to  myself  then.  I  don't 
mind  telling  you,  as  you've  been  so  kind,  that  there  was 
one  trouble  I  had  to  deal  with  that  looked  bad  against 
him,  and  this  last  claim  might  have  turned  out  to  have 
some  connection  with  that.  He  had  got  in  with  a  wild 
lot — I  dare  say  most  of  them  are  killed  now,  poor  boys ! 
It's  right  to  keep  their  faults  to  oneself,  if  it's  possible. 
I'm  glad  I  can  settle  this  matter  promptly,  and  get  it 
out  of  the  way — thanks  to  you.  I'm  very  grateful  to 
you,  Fred." 

He  shook  hands  with  him,  and  Fred  left  him,  feeling 
rather  ashamed  of  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PEKSHORE    CASTLE 

WHAT  was  Norman  doing?  He  did  not  come  to  the 
Hall  on  that  day,  nor  on  the  next,  and  it  was  not  until 
the  third  day  that  Pamela  heard  he  had  gone  away  the 
afternoon  before.  The  close  intercourse  between  the 
Hall  and  the  Grange  was  lessening.  Lady  Eldridge 
had  been  left  alone  at  the  Grange,  and  she  had  not 
proposed  herself  to  dine  at  the  Hall,  or  asked  any  of 
them  to  keep  her  company.  Pamela  felt  unhappy 
about  it  all.  They  seemed  to  be  drifting  apart,  and 
nobody  was  doing  anything  to  prevent  it.  If  Fred 
was  right  about  Norman,  he  was  even  acting  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  the  breach  wider.  She  had  decided 
to  say  something  to  him  about  the  inquiries  he  had  been 
making,  but  he  had  kept  away  from  her.  That  was 
very  unlike  him,  and  it  was  not  in  the  bargain  he  had 
made  with  her.  They  two  were  to  ignore  the  quarrel 
altogether,  and  be  just  as  they  had  been  before.  He 
was  not  ignoring  the  quarrel,  but  apparently  taking  a 
hand  in  it,  and  he  had  gone  away  without  a  word  to 
her,  which  she  could  not  remember  his  ever  having 
done.  Perhaps  he  was  annoyed  with  her  for  having 
admitted  Fred  into  so  much  intimacy.  Well,  she  had 
her  own  reasons  for  that,  and  to  stand  aloof  from  her 
himself  wasn't  the  way  to  recommend  his  opinion  to 
her.  It  was  rather  a  relief  to  her  that  Fred  had  also 

271 


gone  away  for  a  couple  of  days,  for  she  had  not  decided 
yet  what  she  should  do  with  the  information  he  had 
brought  her,  and  she  had  no  inclination  to  discuss  her 
course  of  action  with  him. 

She  went  over  to  the  Grange  in  the  morning  to  see 
her  aunt.  She  still  had  faith  in  her,  and  knew  from 
her  mother  how  troubled  she  was  about  the  estrange- 
ment. But  she  had  not  talked  with  her  about  it  herself. 
She  thought  she  might,  this  morning,  if  she  were  given  a 
chance. 

But  Lady  Eldridge  did  not  give  her  a  chance.  She 
was  in  her  pretty  room,  busy  with  a  water-colour  draw- 
ing of  flowers.  She  was  pleased  to  see  Pam,  and  kept 
her  to  lunch  with  her.  They  played  the  piano  together 
and  sang,  and  cut  flowers  from  the  garden  and 
arranged  them.  It  was  just  such  a  quiet  happy  morn- 
ing as  Pam  had  often  spent  with  her,  except  that  it  was 
not  very  happy.  There  was  the  shadow  over  both  of 
them.  Pamela  could  see  that  her  aunt  was  sad  about 
it,  but  also  that  she  did  not  want  it  mentioned.  The 
terms  they  were  on  did  not  permit  of  her  breaking 
through  the  implied  prohibition  unless  she  had  had  a 
firmly  fixed  purpose  in  doing  so.  But  no  purpose  was 
yet  fixed  in  her. 

She  learnt  that  Norman  was  coming  back  the  next 
day,  bringing  two  Cambridge  friends  with  him,  who 
were  going  to  stay  for  a  fortnight  and  read  hard ;  also 
that  her  uncle  was  not  coming  down  for  the  week-end. 
It  was  the  third  he  had  missed  in  a  few  weeks,  and  it 
was  the  time  of  year  when  he  generally  stayed  at  Hay- 
slope  altogether.  It  looked  as  if  he  were  keeping  away 


PERSHORE  CASTLE  273 

on  purpose,  and  she  thought  that  her  aunt  had  men- 
tioned his  not  being  expected  as  an  intimation  that 
nobody  need  stay  away  from  the  Grange  because  of 
him.  It  was  a  sad  pass  for  them  to  have  come  to,  and 
Pamela  was  not  encouraged,  as  she  walked  home,  by  the 
thought  that  her  aunt  seemed  to  accept  it,  though  not 
without  distress. 

The  next  day  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Eldridge,  Pamela 
and  Judith  went  over  to  lunch  at  Pershore  Castle. 
There  was  a  niece  staying  in  the  house,  for  whom  the 
society  of  other  young  girls  was  desired.  Pamela  found 
her  uninteresting.  She  was  just  a  niece — of  the  sort 
who  is  to  be  found  in  most  country  houses,  and  unless 
deflected  by  matrimony  develops  in  course  of  time  into 
a  cousin,  of  the  sort  who  is  to  be  found  in  most  country 
houses.  Some  bright  life  was  wanted  for  the  benefit  of 
the  niece,  who  was  bright  herself  in  a  niece-like  way, 
and  indeed  seemed  to  possess  all  the  attributes  and 
attainments  of  a  country-house  niecehood. 

They  lunched  in  a  vaulted  stone  hall,  decorated  with 
armour  and  ancient  weapons,  but  Lord  and  Lady  Crow- 
borough,  though  both  descended  from  ancestors  who 
might  have  worn  the  armour  and  wielded  the  weapons, 
made  it  appear  rather  commonplace.  Lord  Crow- 
borough  was  genial,  and  rather  heavily  playful  with 
the  girls,  and  especially  with  the  niece,  who  responded 
to  him  in  the  way  required,  and  Lady  Crowborough, 
who  had  begun  by  being  stately,  soon  thawed  into 
almost  profuse  friendship  towards  Colonel  Eldridge  on 
her  right  and  Judith  on  her  left.  Horsham  sat  next  to 
Judith,  who  was  inclined  to  be  silent.  Pam  was  on  the 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

other  side  of  the  table,  next  to  the  niece,  and  his  eyes 
were  frequently  attracted  to  her.  He  might  possibly 
have  told  the  niece  how  it  was  with  him,  for  she  made 
efforts  to  include  them  both  in  conversation.  But  it  is 
more  likely  that,  guided  by  some  subtle  instinct,  she 
was,  unknown  to  herself,  preparing  for  the  years  of 
cousinship  ahead,  when  Horsham  would  sit  where  his 
father  sat  now,  and  his  wife,  whoever  she  might  be, 
would  invite  her  to  pay  long  visits  to  them. 

She  took  Judith  off  somewhere  after  lunch,  and  left 
Pamela  with  Horsham.  This  was  not  to  Pamela's 
liking,  but  she  soon  discovered  that  it  was  to  his.  She 
did  not  pay  much  attention  to  his  conversation,  feeling 
a  trifle  drowsy  after  the  half  glass  of  Moselle  which 
Lord  Crowborough  had  insisted  upon  her  drinking, 
until  she  woke  up  to  the  fact  that  he  was  endeavouring 
in  a  tentative  and  rather  clumsy  way  to  make  love  to 
her.  She  was  inclined  to  be  flattered,  because  she  had 
now  made  up  her  mind  that  he  liked  Judith  better  than 
he  liked  her,  though  he  might  not  be  fully  aware  of  it 
yet  himself.  But  she  did  not  want  to  be  made  love  to 
for  the  moment,  however  tentatively.  It  was  too  hot, 
for  one  thing,  and  even  half  a  glass  of  Moselle  induces 
a  disinclination  to  mental  effort  when  your  preference 
in  fluids  is  for  plain  water. 

She  staved  off  the  pressure  for  a  time  by  asking  him 
exactly  how  far  he  thought  it  was  from  Hayslope  to 
Pershore,  and  expressing  doubt  at  his  answer.  If  she 
had  thought  of  it  she  would  have  asked  him  to  fetch 
a  map,  and  he  would  have  done  so  willingly  and  proved 
that  he  was  right.  But  he  ended  that  discussion  by 


PERSHORE  CASTLE  275 

saying:  "  Whatever  the  distance  is,  I  wish  it  was  less. 
Then  I  should  see  you  oftener." 

This  was  no  longer  tentative,  though  it  might  be 
lacking  in  finesse.  It  was  too  much  trouble  to  fence 
with  it,  only  to  have  it  pressed  home.  "  Oh,  my  dear 
old  Jim,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  say  that  sort 
of  thing.  Let's  talk  sensibly,  if  we  must  talk.  But 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  feel  rather  sleepy.  Couldn't  we 
both  drop  off  for  a  few  minutes  ?  These  chairs  are  very 
comfortable." 

Horsham  was  sitting  up  in  his.  They  were  on  a 
terrace  edged  with  a  battlemented  wall,  from  which 
there  was  a  fine  spreading  view  of  the  country  that  this 
ancient  castle  had  once  dominated.  Men  at  arms  had 
paced  up  and  down  the  flags  upon  which  the  wicker 
chairs  and  tables  were  now  so  invitingly  displayed,  and 
if  a  fair  lady  had  ever  been  wooed  there  by  the  inheritor 
of  all  the  power  and  wealth  that  had  been  represented 
by  Pershore  Castle,  it  would  have  been  in  very  different 
terms  from  those  now  being  used  by  his  descendant. 

Nevertheless,  Lord  Horsham  possessed,  in  addition 
to  his  quite  modern  tastes,  habits  and  appearance, 
some  sense,  not  to  be  confounded  with  vanity,  of  the 
dignities  he  had  inherited,  or  would  inherit,  and  a  cer- 
tain direct  simplicity  of  purpose  such  as  had  probably 
had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  advancing  his  ancestors 
to  the  summit  of  their  desires.  He  passed  over  com- 
pletely Pamela's  very  modern  expression  of  humour, 
and  said :  "  I  hadn't  thought  of  saying  anything  to  you 
now  because  it's  just  a  chance  that  we  are  here  alone, 
and  I  don't  know  how  much  time  there'll  be.  But  there's 


S76        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

no  sense  in  keeping  back  what's  there,  and  I  know  my 
own  mind  by  this  time.  It's  quite  simple.  You're  the 
only  girl  I've  ever  seen  that  I  should  like  to  marry — I 
don't  mean  yet ;  but  is  there  any  chance  of  it  ?  " 

This  had  been  said,  not  altogether  without  intima- 
tions of  nervousness,  but  with  a  weight  that  forbade 
the  response  of  raillery.  Pamela  corrected  herself,  and 
replied:  "  I'm  afraid  not,  Jim.  I  like  you  very  much 
indeed.  I  always  have  and  I  always  shall ;  but  I  don't 
want  to  marry  you." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  that  you  don't  love  me." 
"  Well — I  suppose  I  do ;  at  least  not  in  that  way." 
"  I  didn't  think  you  did,  you  know,"  he  said,  not 
showing  nervousness  now.     "  But  don't  you  think  it 
would   come?      I  don't   know  much   about  how  these 
things  work,  because  I've  never  gone  about  trying  to 
fall  in  love,  as  some  fellows  seem  to  do.    But  I  did  read 
in  a  book  somewhere  that  women  often  fell  in  love  with 
men  after  they  were  married,  though  men  didn't." 

Pamela  allowed  herself  some  relaxation  in  her  atti- 
tude of  seriousness  and  laughed.  "  I  don't  think  it 
does  to  go  by  books  in  that  sort  of  thing,"  she  said. 
"  Aren't  you  making  a  mistake  in  your  feelings  about 
me,  Jim?  I  know  you  like  me,  and  I'm  very  glad  you 
do.  I  like  you  too.  But  we  don't  seem  to  be  exactly 
cut  out  for  one  another.  Really,  you  get  on  much 
better  with  Judith  than  you  do  with  me.  There's  much 
more  in  common  between  you." 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  think  about  me  and  Judith," 
he  said,  surprisingly.  "I  do  get  on  very  well  with 
Judith,  but  it  isn't  the  same  thing  at  all.  You've  often 


PERSHORE  CASTLE  £77 

sent  me  off  with  Judith  when  I've  wanted  to  be  with  you, 
and  I've  gone  because  I  didn't  want  to  worry  you,  be- 
fore I'd  said  what  I've  said  just  now,  which  I've  been 
meaning  to  say  for  some  time.  It's  you  I  love,  not 
Judith." 

This  touched  her  a  little.  "  I'm  awfully  grateful  to 
you,  Jim,"  she  said.  "  But  I  can't  say  what  you  want. 
And  I'm  still  not  sure  that  you  really  do  want  it. 
Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  it — but  we  are  such  good 
friends,  aren't  we?  And  as  we've  mentioned  Judith — 
I'm  sure  she  has  no  idea  of  such  a  thing,  and  of  course 
she  and  I  have  never  talked  about  you  in  that  way — 
I  really  do  believe  that  you  like  her  much  better  than 
you  think  you  do.  She's  a  darling,  and  ever  so  much 
prettier  than  I  am,  and  much  more  suited  to  you  too. 
If  you  could  once  get  me  out  of  your  head ! " 

He  listened  gravely,  and  seemed  to  be  weighing  what 
she  said.  "  I've  never  thought  about  Judith  in  that 
way  at  all,"  he  said.  "  She's  too  young  for  one 
thing." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  hurriedly,  blushing  a  little. 
"  Perhaps  it's  rather  horrid  of  me  to  talk  of  her  like 
that.  And  of  course  I  don't  mean  now.  You're  quite 
young  too — not  old  enough  to  want  to  be  married 
yet." 

"I  shouldn't  aim  at  getting  married  yet,"  he  con- 
fessed, "  in  the  ordinary  way,  perhaps  not  for  a  few 
years.  But  there's  no  reason  against  it.  When  I've 
left  Oxford,  which  will  be  in  another  year,  I  shall  be 
settling  down  to  work,  and  it  has  lately  seemed  to  me 
that  I  could  work  much  better  if  I  was  married — to 


278        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

somebody  I  love,  as  I  love  you,  who  would  help  me  in 
everything  I  did." 

"  Dear  old  Jim,"  she  said  affectionately.  "  Some- 
how, I  think  you've  got  hold  of  the  right  idea  of  mar- 
riage. With  the  right  girl  you  would  be  happy,  and  I 
think  you  would  make  her  happy  too.  But  I'm  sure 
I'm  not  the  right  girl  for  you.  We'll  go  on  being 
friends,  though,  all  the  same." 

He  heaved  a  sigh.  "  Well,  I  can  see  it's  no  good 
going  on  about  it,"  he  said.  "  All  the  same,  I  shan't 
give  up  the  idea.  I  suppose  there's  nobody  else  you- 
do  want  to  marry,  is  there?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  shortly. 

"  Well,  then,  I  shall  ask  you  again — when  I've  left 
Oxford,  and  am  ready  to  start.  Until  then,  I  shan't 
bother  you — not  at  all,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  on 
being  friends,  as  you  say  you  will  be.  You  won't  tell 
anyone  what  I've  asked  you,  will  you  ?  " 

She  hesitated.  "  I'd  rather  you  didn't  tell  Norman," 
he  said.  "  I  like  Norman,  and  I  don't  mind  his  chaff 
a  bit.  But  I'd  rather  not  be  chaffed  about  this,  because 
I  feel  seriously  about  it." 

"  No,  Jim,  I  won't,"  she  said.  "  I  won't  tell  anybody 
until  you  say  that  I  may." 

Lady  Crowborough  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  had  retired 
together  after  luncheon,  into  an  upstairs  drawing- 
room,  which  had  a  still  finer  view  of  the  surrounding 
dappled  country  than  the  terrace  below. 

Mrs.  Eldridge  was  in  a  mood  slightly  mischievous. 
She  had  seen  Lady  Crowborough  thaw  towards  her 
husband,  whom  she  had  probably  designed  to  keep  at 


PERSHORE  CASTLE  279 

arm's  length.  She  had  not  yet  thawed  towards  her- 
self, and  this  retirement  to  a  room  not  often  used,  in- 
stead of  to  one  with  a  more  intimate  significance, 
seemed  to  mean  that  she  would  be  treated  with  all 
courtesy  and  consideration  due  to  her,  but  not  admitted 
to  any  heart-felt  intercourse. 

She  talked  politely,  on  the  surface  of  things,  and 
Lady  Crowborough  responded  in  the  same  tone,  and  as 
if  this  was  exactly  what  she  wished.  She  even  appeared 
to  be  taking  the  stand  of  a  great,  but  still  affable,  lady 
towards  a  country  neighbour  of  less  exalted  position, 
which  Mrs.  Eldridge  encouraged  by  due  submission. 
But  presently  she  seemed  to  be  getting  uneasy  at  the 
absence  of  the  intimacy  that  had  existed  for  years 
between  her  and  this  particular  neighbour,  and  to  be 
inviting  a  change  in  the  tone  of  the  conversation. 
Mrs.  Eldridge  did  not  respond  to  the  invitation,  but 
became  rather  more  colourlessly  polite  than  before. 

"  I  always  think  that  you  have  such  lovely  views 
from  here,"  she  said,  looking  out  of  the  window.  "  We 
have  beautiful  views  from  some  of  our  windows  at  Hay- 
slope — not  all — and  the  Castle  shows  up  so  well  from 
there.  But  of  course  you  can't  live  in  it  and  have  it 
to  look  at  too." 

"  No,"  Lady  Crowborough  agreed,  and  added  with  a 
smile,  as  of  one  who  was  saying  something  rather 
clever :  "  Sometimes  I  wish  we  had  it  to  look  at  instead 
of  to  live  in.  There  seems  no  end  to  the  expenses  of 
living  in  a  house  as  large  as  this,  even  when  you  live 
as  simply  as  we  do.  Everything  has  gone  up  since  the 
war.  Everything.  Don't  you  find  it  so  ?  " 


280         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge.  "  In  our  small  way  we 
do." 

"  Even  clothes,"  said  Lady  Crowborough.  "  I'm 
really  glad  not  to  be  in  London  so  much  as  we  used  to 
be.  In  the  country  one  can  wear  old  clothes,  and  it 
doesn't  matter." 

"  It  wouldn't  matter,  of  course,  what  you  wore,"  said 
Mrs.  Eldridge,  and  wished  Pamela  had  been  there  to 
hear  the  way  she  said  it.  "  In  our  position  we  have 
to  be  more  careful.  I  find  it  difficult  to  dress  myself 
and  the  girls  nicely  without  spending  too  much  on  it." 

"  Oh,  but  you  always  look  so  beautifully  dressed." 
said  Lady  Crowborough.  "  And  as  for  girls,  I  was 
only  thinking  at  lunch  how  perfectly  charming  they 
looked.  They  really  are  the  sweetest  looking  girls,  both 
of  them;  and  so  clever  and  taking  too.  Of  course  I 
always  admired  them  as  little  girls;  but  pretty  little 
girls  don't  always  grow  up  so  pretty.  Both  Pamela 
and  Judith  have.  I'm  not  sure  that  Judith  won't  be 
even  prettier  than  Pamela  by  and  by." 

"  Yes,  I  think  they  are  pretty,  both  of  them,"  said 
Mrs.  Eldridge  judicially.  "  And  they  are  looking 
their  best  to-day.  Excitement  always  improves  young 
girls,  and  they  have  been  so  looking  forward  to  coming 
here,  ever  since  we  had  your  kind  note." 

Her  artistic  sense  reproached  her  for  having  gone 
perhaps  a  trifle  too  far,  but  Lady  Crowborough  by 
now  was  extremely  anxious  to  cast  away  the  tiresome 
impediments  of  reserve.  "  Oh,  you  must  bring  them 
over  more  often,"  she  said,  "  especially  now  we  have  my 
niece  staying  with  us.  I  was  saying  to  my  husband 


PERSHORE  CASTLE  281 

only  yesterday,  we  don't  see  half  enough  of  the 
Eldridges,  and  we've  always  been  such  close  friends. 
There  was  a  little  trouble,  I  know,  between  my  husband 
and  yours,  but  that's  all  over  now,  and  it  never  affected 
us,  did  it?  Couldn't  we  arrange  a  little  picnic  together 
somewhere — just  ourselves  and  your  children?  I  should 
like  Patricia  to  know  Alice  and  Isabelle.  They're 
not  so  pretty  as  Pamela  and  Judith,  but  they  are 
pretty,  and  they're  such  clever  and  amusing  children. 
I  often  wish  I  had  a  daughter  of  my  own.  I  think 
you're  lucky  in  having  four  of  them." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  allowed  herself  to  relax.  "  Four 
daughters  are  rather  a  responsibility  in  these  days," 
she  said.  "We  couldn't  do  without  one  of  ours,  even 
Alice  and  Isabelle,  who  are  perfectly  hideous,  but 
darlings  all  the  same.  Still,  it's  far  less  anxiety  to 
have  an  only  son,  as  you  have;  especially  when  he's 
so  well-behaved,  as  Horsham." 

Lady  Crowborough  felt  the  change  of  atmosphere, 
and  all  her  responsive  petals  unfolded  to  it.  "  I  don't 
mind  saying  to  such  an  old  friend  as  you,"  she  said 
confidentially,  "  that  we  were  a  little  afraid  of  Hor- 
sham's  becoming  rather  wild  at  one  time.  But  that's 
all  over.  He  is  taking  life  quite  seriously  now,  though 
I'm  glad  to  say  that  it  doesn't  prevent  his  being 
bright  and  gay  in  a  way  that  a  young  man  ought 
to  be." 

"  Oh,  no ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Eldridge,  and  again 
wished  that  Pamela  were  there  to  hear  her — or  if  not 
Pamela,  somebody  who  could  appreciate  her. 

"  I  should  like  Horsham  to  marry  early  and  settle 


288         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

down,"  said  Lady  Crowborough.  "  I  don't  approve 
of  very  early  marriages  as  a  rule,  but  in  his  case  I  think 
it  would  turn  out  well." 

"  I'm  sure  he  would  make  a  good  husband,"  said 
Mrs.  Eldridge.  "  His  wife  would  never  have  a  mo- 
ment's anxiety  about  him." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  she  would.  And  do  you  know, 
dear  Mrs.  Eldridge,  I've  a  fancy  in  my  head  that  he 
is  thinking  about  it  already." 

"  Really  ?  That's  very  interesting.  Is  it  your  niece  ? 
She  seems  a  very  nice  girl." 

"  Oh.  no.  Patricia  and  he  get  on  very  well  together, 
but  there's  never  likely  to  be  anything  of  that  sort  be- 
tween them.  Patricia  is  going  in  for  music ;  she  has  a 
very  pretty  little  voice — you  must  hear  her  sing — and 
though  she  needn't  do  anything,  you  never  know  with 
a  girl,  in  these  days.  No,  it  isn't  Patricia,  dear.  I 
wonder  you  haven't  seen  something  yourself;  you  must 
look  much  nearer  home." 

"  One  of  my  girls  ? "  she  laughed,  naturally. 
"  Which  one?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  Pamela,  of  course.  Judith  is  hardly  grown 
up  yet." 

"  And  Alice  and  Isabelle  are  too  ugly,  besides  being 
still  less  grown  up.  Well,  he  does  like  coming  over  to 
us,  and  we're  always  very  pleased  to  see  him.  But 
really,  I  don't  think  it  has  got  as  far  as  that  yet.  If 
it  had  I  shouldn't  have  asked  which  of  the  girls  you 
suspected.  He  seems  to  like  them  both  equally — all 
four  equally,  I  might  almost  say.  If  it  were  Pamela, 
should  you  think  she  was  quite  good  enough  for  him?  " 


PERSHORE  CASTLE  283 

The  artistic  conscience  approved  of  this  question,  as 
carrying  over  the  earlier  tone  of  the  conversation  into 
the  later.  But  Lady  Crowborough  had  quite  done  with 
that  earlier  tone.  "  Oh,  my  dear !  "  she  said  in  expos- 
tulation. "  We're  not  worldly.  You  ought  to  know 
us  better  than  that  by  this  time.  Besides,  Pamela 
might  marry  anybody.  You're  not  worldly  either,  I'm 
sure ;  but  you  would  expect  her  to  make  what  is  called 
a  good  match,  I  should  think.  Besides — your 
daughter ! " 

Mrs.  Eldridge  forgave  her  everything.  "  It  would 
be  rather  nice,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  hate  to  lose  Pam. 
It  seems  such  a  little  time  ago  that  she  was  a  tiny  child. 
I  suppose  she's  a  little  more  to  me  than  the  others,  be- 
cause she  was  the  first  girl.  Still,  I've  got  to  lose  her 
some  time  or  other,  and  I  should  love  it  if  she  didn't  go 
very  far  away.  At  the  same  time,  you  know,  I  don't 
think  it's  going  to  happen." 

Lady  Crowborough  looked  disappointed.  She  had 
always  shown  herself  very  much  taken  with  Pamela, 
since  her  babyhood,  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  had  known,  all 
the  time  she  was  amusing  herself  with  her  attempted 
stand-offishness  towards  herself,  that  she  had  only  to 
mention  Pamela's  name  to  turn  it  into  entire  friendli- 
ness. "  I  should  like  it,"  she  said.  "  And  I  suppose 
neither  you  nor  Colonel  Eldridge  would  object,  would 
vou?  " 

v 

"  No,  of  course  we  shouldn't.  One  has  to  think  of  the 
sort  of  marriage  one's  daughters  are  likely  to  make,  and 
we  couldn't  expect  a  more  satisfactory  one,  for  any  of 
our  girls." 


284,        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  Well,  there  is  the  position,  of  course,"  said  Lady 
Crowborough,  with  a  slight  return  to  her  great  lady 
manner.  "  But  nobody  would  fill  it  better  than  Pamela 
— as  a  young  wife,  I  mean." 

A  glint  appeared  in  Mrs.  Eldridge's  eyes.  "  You 
would  be  able  to  teach  her  what  she  didn't  know,"  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  yes.  There's  nothing  so  very  difficult  about  it, 
if  you're  of  the  right  sort  of  birth  to  begin  with.  Well, 
there's  no  hurry.  They're  both  quite  young  still.  But 
I  should  like  it  to  happen,  I  must  say;  and  I'm  quite 
glad  we've  had  a  little  talk  about  it.  There'd  be  no 
harm  in  trying  to  help  it  on,  would  there?  If  you  and 
1  are  agreed,  we  might  do  something,  of  course  without 
showing  our  hands,  you  know." 

"  Yes;  you  said  something  about  a  picnic  just  now." 

All  Lady  Crowborough's  petals  expanded  to  their 
utmost.  "  Ah !  "  she  exclaimed  ecstatically.  "  A  picnic. 
Now  do  let  us  arrange  a  picnic ! " 


CHAPTER  XXH 

A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON 

LORD  CROWBOROUGH  and  Colonel  Eldridge  had  retired 
for  their  after-luncheon  cigars  to  another  lower  terrace 
overlooking  the  garden  slopes.  Lord  Crowborough  felt 
it  necessary  to  say  something  about  Sir  William's  eleva- 
tion to  the  Order  which  he  himself  adorned,  but  was  not 
quite  sure  how  his  friend  would  take  it.  Vague  rumours 
of  a  dispute  had  reached  Pershore  Castle,  though  noth- 
ing was  known  there  as  to  the  grounds  of  it.  Perhaps 
Edmund  Eldridge  objected  to  his  brother  being  elevated 
above  himself.  His  prejudices  were  not  always  rea- 
sonable. 

"  I'm  sure  William  will  be  very  useful  to  us,"  said 
Lord  Crowborough,  expansively.  "  He's  made  an  ex- 
traordinary success  of  everything  he  has  done  so  far. 
A  very  capable  fellow,  William !  We've  plenty  of  room 
for  men  like  him.  A  man  of  family  too !  So  many  of 
the  people  they  send  to  us  don't  know  who  their  grand- 
fathers were." 

"  Or  else  they  do  know,  and  keep  it  dark." 
Lord  Crowborough  laughed  appreciatively.  "  That's 
very  good,"  he  said.  "  Very  good  indeed !  I  must  re- 
member that.  Or  else  they  do  know,  and  keep  it  dark. 
Yes,  you've  just  about  hit  it.  There  was  a  fellow  I  met 
a  short  time  ago — I  forget  his  name,  which  I'd  never 
heard  of,  or  what  he  called  himself — impossible  to  keep 

285 


286         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

all  these  new  titles  in  your  head — but  he  told  me  himself 
that  his  grandfather  had  served  behind  the  counter  of 
a  grocer's  shop.  Well,  Tie  didn't  keep  it  dark,  to  do 
him  justice,  and  I  think  they'd  only  made  him  a  baronet, 
now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  and  not  a  peer.  But  'pon 
my  word  with  half  of  'em  it's  just  paying  down  money, 
and  up  they  go.  Hardly  any  pretence  of  having  done 
anything  to  deserve  it.  Of  course  William  has  made 
himself  useful.  Nothing  to  complain  of  there." 

"  They  wanted  him  either  in  the  Lords  or  the  Com- 
mons, as  I  understand.  There's  no  question  of  his 
buying  a  title." 

"Eh?  Oh,  no!  Besides,  such  things  aren't  done. 
Nobody  really  buys  a  title.  There's  always  some  reason 
for  it.  With  him  there's  a  good  one." 

"  Yes,  but —  People  aren't  saying  that  he  has  paid 
money  for  it,  are  they  ?  " 

"Eh?  Oh,  I  dare  say  he  made  a  handsome  sub- 
scription to  Party  funds,  you  know.  He  can  afford  it. 
He's  a  rich  fellow,  William.  That  wouldn't  be  buying 
his  title." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  far  off.  Is  it  the  general  opinion 
that  he  has  done  that  ?  " 

"General  opinion?  My  dear  fellow,  what  does  gen- 
eral opinion  matter?  If  he's  told  you  definitely  that  he 
hasn't—!" 

"  Oh,  he  hasn't  told  me  anything  about  it.  I  haven't 
seen  him  for  a  month." 

"  Eh?  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,  Edmund.  I  did  hear 
something  about  you  having  fallen  out.  I  hope  it's 
nothing  serious.  You've  always  been  such  good  friends, 


A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON  287 

you  and  William.  You're  not  annoyed  about  his  peer- 
age, are  you?  " 

"  No.  Why  should  I  be  annoyed  about  it  ?  I  should 
be  if  I  thought  he'd  bought  it — directly  or  indirectly — 
as  you  seem  to  hint.  But  I  don't  think  he  would  do 
that." 

"  Eh?  No,  I  dare  say  not.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  shooting 
this  year?  You  haven't  preserved  at  all  since  the  war, 
have  you?  " 

"  No.  William  wanted  to.  We've  run  the  shooting 
together  for  some  years,  you  know.  He  was  ready  to 
pay  to  get  it  all  going  again,  but  I  didn't  care  about 
that,  and  I  can't  afford  to  pay  my  share  now.  There'll 
be  enough  birds  for  a  few  days  now  and  then,  which  is 
all  I  want." 

"  Ah,  then  I  suppose  that's  why  William  is  going  off 
to  Suffolk." 

"Going  off  to  Suffolk?" 

"You  didn't  know?  I  thought  perhaps  that  might 
have  had  something  to  do  with  your  falling  out  with 
him — cutting  himself  loose  from  Hayslope,  now  that 
he's  more  interested  in  it — or  ought  to  be." 

"  What  we've  fallen  out  about  is —  But  I  don't  want 
to  go  into  it ;  it's  a  private  affair.  I've  told  you  that 
I  haven't  seen  him  for  weeks,  and  he  hasn't  been  here 
as  much  as  usual.  I  don't  know  anything  about  his 
movements." 

"  Well,  it  came  to  me  in  rather  a  roundabout  way, 
though  as  it  happens  I  can  vouch  for  it  as  far  as  it 
goes.  I  don't  know  whether  I'm  letting  out  any  secrets ; 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

but  a  man  I  dined  with  at  Brooks's  the  other  night, 
talking  about  how  the  old  estates  were  getting  into  the 
hands  of — I  mean,  he  happened  to  mention  a  place  in 
Suffolk  that  belonged  to  a  relation  of  his,  and  I  under- 
stood that  William  was  in  negotiation  for  it.  Of  course 
I  said  I  knew  him,  and  he'd  be  all  right  as  a  neighbour; 
but  I  said  that  he  had  a  place  here,  and  a  property  com- 
ing to  him  by  and  by,  and  I  was  surprised  to  hear  that 
he  was  thinking  of  buying  another  one.  However,  he 
assured  me  that  it  was  so,  but  perhaps  he  was  mistaken. 
He  certainly  said  that  William  had  been  down  to  see 
the  place,  because  his  cousin  had  told  him  so.  Nevill 
Goring  it  was — no  harm  in  mentioning  his  name.  I 
can't  remember  who  he  said  his  cousin  was,  or  the  name 
of  the  place,  though  he  did  mention  them  both,  and  I 
understood  him  to  say  it  was  practically  fixed  up.  You 
see  William  is  known.  People  talk  about  him  now,  and 
if  he  does  anything  it's  known  about ;  often  gets  into  the 
papers  too." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  It's  difficult  to  believe  all  the 
same,  because  he  would  hardly  buy  a  big  place  without 
consulting  his  wife,  and  she's  been  down  here  for  the  last 
two  or  three  weeks,  without  going  away.  We've  seen 
her  constantly,  and  she's  never  mentioned  such  a  thing." 

"  Oh,  you  still  see  her?  " 

"Yes.  There's  no  quarrel  with  her!  There'd  be 
no  quarrel  with  William  if  he  were  what  he  used  to  be. 
However,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it.  He'll  go  his 
own  way,  I  suppose.  If  it's  really  true  that  he's  think- 
ing of  buying  another  place,  I  suppose  his  way  and  mine 
will  diverge  more  than  ever." 


A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON  289 

"  Well  now,  my  dear  Edmund,  can't  I  do  something 
about  it?  You're  both  friends  of  mine.  You're  more 
my  friend  than  William  is,  but  still  you're  both  friends, 
of  very  long  standing.  I  don't  like  to  see  you  at  logger- 
heads, and  I  don't  see  any  reason  for  it.  Besides,  it's 
an  exceptionally  bad  thing  in  this  case,  because  there's 
your  property,  very  much  reduced  now  I'm  sure,  like 
everybody's  property,  and  there's  William  with  a  great 
deal  of  money — really  a  great  deal  of  money  he  must 
have  made,  or  he  wouldn't  have  been  able  to — well,  he 
wouldn't  be  able  to  buy  another  big  landed  property, 
as  apparently  he's  thinking  of  doing.  You  ought  to  be 
working  in  together,  you  two,  not  drifting  apart  like 
this." 

"  Yes ;  I  know."  He  spoke  rather  sadly.  "  But  as 
for  William's  money,  I'm  sick  of  his  money,  Crow- 
borough.  It  seems  to  stand  for  everything.  What 
we've  actually  quarrelled  about  is  a  very  small  thing. 
I  know  that,  and  I'm  not  going  over  it  with  you.  No, 
you  can't  do  anything;  thank  you,  all  the  same.  It 
began  by  William  using  his  money  in  what  I  thought 
was  an  unjustifiable  way.  All  the  way  through,  at 
Hay  slope,  there  am  I  adjusting  things  to  the  new  con- 
ditions, as  all  landowners  must  now-a-days,  spending 
my  life  there,  and  doing  more  work  than  I've  ever  had 
to  do  for  myself;  and  there's  William  just  coming  down 
now  and  then,  and  complicating  everything  with  his 
money,  throwing  labour  out  of  gear,  not  even  consulting 
me  in  matters  where  I  ought  to  be  consulted,  doing  just 
what  he  pleases.  He  gets  a  peerage,  and  you  tell  me  that 
the  general  idea  is  that  that's  owing  to  his  money.  He's 


290         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

quarrelled  with  me,  so  Hayslope  isn't  agreeable  to  him 
any  longer,  I  suppose,  and  he's  got  enough  money  to 
go  and  buy  another  big  place,  just  to  get  away  from  it, 
though  it  will  all  be  his  some  day.  His  money  has  al- 
tered William  entirely.  Now  he's  Lord  Eldridge,  and 
I'm  just  a  nobody  of  a  poor  country  gentleman,  hard  hit 
by  the  war.  I  don't  mind  that — not  for  myself,  though 
I  do  for  my  wife  and  children ;  but  you'd  think  he  would- 
n't want  to  be  always  ramming  it  down  my  throat — his 
elder  brother,  and  the  head  of  his  family,  in  spite  of  his 
new  peerage.  If  I  were  content  to  sit  down  and  take 
his  charity,  I  dare  say  we  should  get  on  very  well 
together.  I  don't  know  how  much  money  he  has,  but  I 
dare  say  he  could  make  me  perfectly  comfortable  at 
Hayslope  without  feeling  it.  But  I'm  not  taking  his 
charity,  or  his  patronage  either.  It  isn't  in  me  to  do 
it,  not  even  for  the  sake  of  my  family,  and  I'd  swallow 
a  good  deal  for  them  to  have  what  they  ought  to 
have." 

Lord  Crowborough's  face  had  become  serious  during 
this  speech.  "  Well,  I  see  how  it  is,  Edmund,"  he  said. 
"  I  see  very  plainly  how  it  is ;  because  I've  always  felt 
about  William — though  I've  never  said  so — that  with 
all  his  generosity — and  I  think  there's  no  doubt  he's  a 
generous  man;  in  fact  I  know  he  is — he's  not  quite — 
how  shall  I  put  it? — one  of  our  sort.  I  don't  know  why, 
I'm  sure,  because  he  is  by  birth,  and  upbringing  too. 
I  suppose  he's  what  they  call  a  throwback.  The  fact 
is  I  don't  think  he  could  have  made  all  that  money,  and 
still  be  making  it,  I  suppose,  if  he  weren't  different — 
different  altogether.  The  money-makers  are  a  type 


A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON  291 

apart,  and  they  may  make  him  a  peer,  and  he  may  be  a 
big  landowner — anything  you  please — but  the  more  he 
gets  with  that  swim  the  more  he  resembles  their  type. 
That's  what  you're  up  against,  at  the  bottom  of  it  all, 
quarrel  or  no  quarrel ;  and  of  course  you're  not  at  home 
with  that  type.  But  now,  when  you've  said  that,  can't 
you  make  allowances?  After  all,  he's  your  brother,  and 
you've  been  good  friends  all  your  lives.  Let  me  have  a 
talk  to  William.  Let  me  tell  him  that  you  don't  want 
to  quarrel,  and — " 

"  Oh,  you  can  do  that  if  you  like.  I've  no  objection. 
But  you've  put  it  very  plainly.  He's  approximating 
more  and  more  to  type.  There's  not  much  chance,  I 
think,  of  our  hitting  it  off  again,  as  we  used  to.  I 
stand  where  I  did,  and  he's  altered.  Still,  I  agree  that 
there's  no  need  to  quarrel  with  a  man  just  because  he 
isn't  one's  own  sort.  If  you  can  get  it  on  to  those  lines 
there  may  be  a  way  out.  I  did  stipulate  that  he  should 
do  something  that  I  think  he  ought  to  have  done  of  his 
own  accord.  He  would  have  done  it  without  question 
a  year  or  two  ago.  But  I  don't  care  whether  he  does 
it  or  not  now.  It's  gone  beyond  that.  I  shall  never 
think  of  him  again  as  I  used  to  because  he's  not  the  same 
man.  But  there's  no  reason  why  we  should  live  at 
daggers  drawn — especially  if  he's  going  to  withdraw 
from  Hayslope.  That's  about  the  last  straw.  But 
I'm  not  going  to  make  a  fuss  about  it,  or  about  any- 
thing else  that  he  does.  He  can  go  his  way,  and  I'll 
go  mine.  We're  better  apart  now." 

"  If  you  feel  like  that  about  him— !  Well,  I'll  see 
him  and  talk  to  him.  I  don't  think  it's  quite  as  bad  as 


292        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

you  think,  Edmund.     The  fact  is  he's  made  a  big  posi- 
tion for  himself  in  the  world,  and — " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  all  that.  So  does  he.  That's  the 
root  of  the  trouble." 

The  conversation  was  broken  at  that  point  by  the 
incursion  of  several  young  people  whose  activities  and 
sociabilities  for  the  afternoon  would  radiate  from  this 
garden  terrace.  Norman  Eldridge  was  among  them, 
and  with  him  were  the  two  young  men  whom  he  had 
invited  to  Hayslope.  These  he  had  already  presented 
to  Pamela,  and  they  were  now  on  either  side  of  her, 
while  Horsham  thus  dispossessed,  was  making  himself- 
agreeable  to  other  guests. 

The  hot  afternoon  wore  on  to  the  coolness  of  evening. 
There  was  perpetual  activity  of  white-clad  youthful 
figures  on  the  tennis  courts;  some  inspection — mostly 
in  couples — of  the  ancient  Castle,  which  stood  massive 
and  grim  overlooking  the  gay  expanse  of  garden  that 
surrounded  it,  and  as  if  it  would  never  quite  adapt  itself 
to  its  present  peaceful  and  defenceless  state ;  apprecia- 
tion of  garden  beauties — also  mostly  in  couples  ;  general 
conversation  from  groups  overlooking  the  courts ;  play 
of  teacups  on  the  terrace ;  and  a  general  atmosphere  of 
untroubled  youthful  enjoyment,  tampered  by  the  less 
vociferous  contentment  of  the  elders  who  watchtd  or 
took  some  share  in  it. 

But  youth  is  seldom  altogether  untroubled,  even  when 
in  the  mass  it  appears  most  delightfully  free  from  care. 
Pamela,  for  instance,  might  have  forgotten,  for  the 
happy  afternoon,  the  cloud  that  hung  over  her  home, 
as  her  parents  whom  it  most  concerned  seemed  to  be 


A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON  293 

doing ;  the  experience  of  a  first  proposal  had  not  greatly 
affected  her,  though  probably  when  she  came  to  think 
it  over  alone  it  would  seem  more  important  than  it  did 
now.  But  she  was  unhappy  about  Norman. 

Was  he  avoiding  her?  The  idea  came  to  her  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon,  and  grew.  She  was  not  entirely 
guiltless  of  a  wish  to  avoid  him,  at  first,  or  at  least  to 
appear  to  be  doing  so.  She  was  not  quite  pleased  with 
him,  but  her  displeasure  would  melt  if  he  sought  her 
out,  as  he  might  be  expected  to  do,  and  proved  to  her 
that  she  had  nothing  over  which  to  disturb  herself.  He 
had  more  than  one  opportunity  of  securing  a  word  or 
two  with  her  apart.  Almost  invariably  he  had  done  so 
on  such  occasions  as  this,  if  only  to  share  with  her  some 
laughing  appreciation  of  the  company  in  which  they 
found  themselves.  He  had  produced  for  her  inspection 
the  first  instalment  of  his  promised  supply  of  young 
men;  the  grin  with  which  he  had  introduced  them  to 
her  had  shown  that  their  conversation  on  that  subject 
was  in  his  mind,  and  he  must  have  wanted  to  hear  her 
observations,  and  to  make  some  of  his  own.  She  was 
quite  ready  to  oblige  him,  as  a  stepping-stone  to  an 
exchange  of  views  upon  a  subject  more  serious,  for  her 
slight  resentment  against  him  soon  disappeared  in  face 
of  his  evident  wish  to  maintain  the  usual  friendly  re- 
lations. He  did  accompany  her  and  one  of  his  friends, 
who  had  expressed  a  desire  to  see  the  Castle — in  Pam- 
ela's company — on  a  round  of  inspection,  and  was  quite 
friendly  and  amusing.  But  when  she  was  ready  to  make 
it  easy  for  him  to  talk  to  her  alone,  he  did  not  give  her 
the  opportunity,  and  by  and  by  she  became  sure  that  he 


294         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

did  not  want  to  talk  to  her  alone.  Then  she  retired 
into  her  shell,  and  showed  him  that  she  was  displeased 
with  him.  He  didn't  seem  to  mind  that  either,  and  pre- 
tended not  to  notice  it.  He  did  his  best  to  make  her 
laugh,  and  it  was  unfortunate  that  once  at  least  he 
succeeded.  This  made  her  angry  with  herself,  and  she 
withdrew  from  the  group  which  Norman  was  so  success- 
ful in  entertaining.  One  of  his  friends — the  one  who 
had  inspected  the  Castle  with  them — withdrew  with  her, 
but  he  found  that  the  wind  had  changed  and  the  sun 
of  her  amiability  no  longer  shone  on  him.  She  de- 
tached herself  and  went  straight  up  to  where  Fred 
Comfrey  was  engaged  in  conversation  with  the  Pershore 
niece,  and  presently  Norman  had  the  felicity  of  seeing 
her  walk  off  with  him  towards  the  retirement  of  groves 
unseen.  Though  carefully  refraining  from  a  look  in 
his  direction,  she  was  fully  aware  of  the  annoyance  he 
immediately  showed,  and  was  glad  of  it. 

When  she  had  got  Fred  alone  she  was  inclined  to  be 
annoyed  with  herself  for  having  been  forced  to  that 
means  of  asserting  herself,  and  wished  she  had  chosen 
Horsham  for  a  tete-a-tete.  Her  feelings  were  warm  to- 
wards Horsham,  who  had  behaved  well  under  his  re- 
jection, and  she  had  seen  him  eyeing  her  rather  wistfully 
as  she  and  Fred  had  passed  him.  Still,  Norman  would 
not  have  disliked  that  as  much  as  this ;  and  this  needn't 
last  long.  Fred  did  not  appear  to  such  advantage  here 
as  at  home  at  Hayslope,  where  his  status  was  well  under- 
stood and  need  not  be  taken  into  account.  He  did  not 
seem  to  belong  of  right  to  the  company  assembled.  He 
had,  in  fact,  bicycled  over  to  Pershore  Rectory,  with 


A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON  295 

the  faint  hope  that  the  Rector's  daughters,  whom  he 
knew  slightly,  might  be  going  to  the  Castle,  where  he 
knew  that  Pamela  was  to  spend  the  afternoon,  and  would 
take  him  with  them.  His  hopes  had  been  fulfilled.  The 
Rector's  daughters  were  "  getting  on,"  and  could 
neither  send  away  a  young  man  reported  to  be  eligible 
on  the  plea  of  an  engagement,  or  give  up  their  after- 
noon's pleasure.  But  he  was  inclined  to  wish  that  his 
plan  had  not  succeeded.  He  had  been  quite  well  re- 
ceived, but  he  was  not  in  flannels  and  could  not  play 
tennis ;  so  that  he  never  merged  with  the  rest,  and  there 
was  a  sort  of  air  of  apology  about  him  which  did  not 
show  him  up  to  advantage.  He  had  never  been  to  Per- 
shore  Castle  before,  and  was  apologetic  about  that,  ta 
Pamela,  explaining  rather  anxiously  exactly  how  he 
came  to  be  there,  and  giving  her  the  very  impression 
which  his  explanations  were  intended  to  remove — that 
he  had  got  himself  in  there  on  her  account.  This  did 
not  please  her  at  all;  nor  did  his  way  of  taking  her 
invitation  to  a  stroll  apart.  She  divined  a  difference  in 
his  attitude  towards  her,  though  there  was  nothing  in 
his  speech  at  which  she  could  take  offence.  Her  invita- 
tion was  made  to  appear  a  special  mark  of  favour,  and 
yet  one  to  which  he  seemed  to  think  he  had  some  right. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  intercourse  with  him  she  was 
forced  to  take  into  account  his  admiration  of  her,  which 
she  had  hitherto  been  able  to  set  aside. 

She  asked  him,  rather  shortly,  what  it  was  that  her 
father  had  talked  to  him  about,  for  she  had  not  seen  him 
since  that  afternoon.  To  her  surprise  he  said  that  it 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  quarrel,  and  gave  her  to 


296        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

understand  that  there  were  subjects  which  men  discussed 
between  themselves  and  kept  to  themselves.  He  said 
this  in  a  half-jocular  manner,  not  in  the  best  of  taste, 
and  she  had  an  uneasy  suspicion  that  she  herself  might 
have  been  the  subject  of  their  conversation,  but  im- 
mediately rejected  it.  Fred  seemed,  anyhow,  to  be  less 
in  awe  of  her  father  than  he  had  shown  himself  until 
now,  and  she  did  not  like  that,  for  she  thought  that 
deference  was  due  from  him.  She  was  in  fact,  coming 
very  quickly  round  to  Norman's  stated  opinion  of  Fred 
— that  he  might  have  made  a  success  of  his  job,  what- 
ever it  was,  and  done  well  in  the  war,  but  he  was  an 
outsider  all  the  same.  She  had  labelled  this  view  as 
snobbery,  and  Norman  had  said :  "  All  right,  then,  I'm 
a  snob.  Let's  leave  it  at  that." 

Perhaps  Fred,  not  responsive  to  fine  shades,  but 
sharpened  by  his  feeling  for  her,  and  under  the  uneasy 
influence  of  a  false  shame  at  being  where  he  was,  divined 
that  he  was  losing  ground  in  her  estimation,  for  he 
suddenly  plumped  out ;  "Well,  this  is  the  last  of  holidays 
for  me.  I'm  off  to  London  to  get  into  harness  again." 

That  changed  the  current  of  her  thoughts  about  him. 
As  a  bold  adventurer  on  the  sea  of  life  he  was  worthy  of 
respect,  and  good  wishes.  She  gave  him  her  good 
wishes,  and  he  stoically  refrained  from  asking  anything 
else  of  her,  though  he  would  have  given  a  good  deal 
for  some  word  of  regret  that  he  was  leaving  so  soon, 
or  of  desire  for  his  return.  Still,  she  was  charmingly 
friendly  again,  and  he  took  leave  of  her,  and  very  soon 
afterwards  of  Pershore  Castle,  thinking  that  his  appear- 
ance there  had  not  turned  out  so  badly  after  all.  He 


A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON  297 

had  actually  made  no  plans  to  go  to  London,  or  any- 
where else,  in  the  immediate  future;  his  announcement 
of  departure  had  been  an  inspiration  of  the  moment. 
He  would  never  get  any  further  with  her,  hanging  about 
Hayslope.  Her  tone  towards  him  had  shown  him  that 
plainly.  He  was  a  fool  to  have  counted  a  little  upon 
that  surprising  and  gratifying  invitation  of  hers  to  a 
few  minutes  of  intimacy  in  the  middle  of  a  crowd,  and 
to  have  tried  to  advance  himself  a  step.  And  yet — 
What  had  it  meant  but  that  she  was  beginning  to  want 
him — a  little,  sometimes — as  he  wanted  her,  always. 
She  might  not  know  it,  and  she  had  certainly  not  seemed 
to  want  him  very  much  when  she  had  got  him  apart; 
but  the  stirring  of  her  heart  towards  him,  surely  it  had 
begun!  He  would  go  away,  as  soon  as  possible,  and 
plunge  into  work,  and  every  now  and  then,  at  intervals 
not  too  close,  he  would  come  back,  and  tell  her  of  what 
he  had  been  doing.  She  would  miss  him.  Would  she 
miss  him?  He  hoped  so;  he  thought  so.  He  was  not 
an  altogether  unhappy  young  man  as  he  pedalled  him- 
self back  to  Hayslope. 

But  he  had  left  behind  him  an  unhappy  young  woman. 
Norman  was  furious  with  Pamela  now,  wouldn't  look 
at  her,  much  less  speak  to  her.  And  she  was  without 
the  conviction  to  uphold  her  that  she  had  done  right. 
Her  eyes  had  been  opened.  She  was  ashamed  of  herself 
for  having  given  Fred  that  mark  of  confidence.  Norman 
was  right.  He  wasn't  of  their  sort,  and  it  didn't  do  to 
go  outside  the  pale  for  your  friends.  Neither  of  those 
young  men  whom  Norman  had  introduced  to  her  would 
have  made  her  feel  uncomfortable,  as  Fred  had,  if  she 


298        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

had  given  them  an  ordinary  mark  of  friendship.  Pam- 
ela had  burnt  her  fingers,  for  she  had  wanted  Norman 
to  take  her  invitation  to  Fred  as  rather  more  than  an 
ordinary  mark  of  friendship.  He  had  done  so,  and  she 
was  not  pleased  with  herself,  nor  with  him,  nor  with 
Fred.  But  of  course  she  wasn't  going  to  show  him  that. 
She  took  no  more  notice  of  him  for  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon  than  he  did  of  her,  but  she  made  herself  par- 
ticularly agreeable  to  the  more  coming-on  of  his  two 
friends.  But  this  wasn't  a  great  success  either,  for  the 
friend  told  Norman  that  evening,  with  the  attractive 
candour  of  a  friend,  that  he  thought  his  cousin  was  a 
peach,  but  somewhat  hectic  in  her  mirth,  which  was 
exactly  what  Pamela  wasn't  as  a  general  rule. 

Horsham  happened  to  be  in  Judith's  company  when 
Pamela  went  away  with  Fred.  He  found  Judith's  com- 
pany soothing  after  the  laceration  of  spirit  he  had 
lately  undergone.  He  had  conscientiously  examined 
himself  upon  Pamela's  statement  to  him  about  Judith, 
trying  to  look  at  her  with  the  eyes  that  had  been  at- 
tributed to  him,  just  to  see  if  there  was  anything  in  it, 
as  yet  unknown  to  himself.  Certainly  she  was  a  very 
pretty  girl,  and  now  he  came  to  look  at  her  more  closely 
not  really  a  child  any  longer.  It  would  not  be  at  all 
surprising  if  some  fellow  fell  in  love  with  her,  pretty 
soon.  But  she  did  not  arouse  in  him  the  feelings  that 
Pamela  did.  She  was  a  delightful  companion,  and  as  a 
sister,  if  he  ever  had  the  luck  to  marry  Pamela,  she 
would  be  very  dear  to  him — he  felt  sure  of  that.  Yes, 
in  a  way  he  really  loved  her  already,  but  not  in  that 
way  at  all.  He  was  sure  of  that  also,  and  being  sure 


A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON  299 

of  it  allowed  himself  to  take  his  usual  pleasure  in  her 
society,  honest  fellow  that  he  was,  without  any  mis- 
givings of  danger. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  much  care  for  that  fellow 
Comfrey.  Pamela  doesn't  like  him  particularly,  does 
she?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Judith."     «  I  don't." 

"You  don't?     Why?" 

"I  don't  know  why,"  said  Judith,  "but  I  don't," 
which  was  a  thoroughly  Judithian  speech. 

"  Strikes  me  as  rather  a  pushing  sort  of  fellow," 
said  Horsham.  "  I  shouldn't  have  thought  Pamela 
would  have  taken  up  with  a  fellow  like  that." 

"How  high  is  that  tower?"  asked  Judith.  They 
were  sitting  on  the  lawn  in  view  of  the  Castle,  looming 
above  them. 

Horsham  told  her.  She  seemed  really  to  want  to 
know.  He  thought  rather  sadly  that  Pamela  had  not 
really  wanted  to  know  how  far  it  was  from  Hayslope  to 
Pershore.  Judith  was  sometimes  more  interesting  to 
talk  to  than  Pamela,  or  at  least  she  was  sometimes  more 
easy  to  talk  to.  But  perhaps  that  was  because  she  was 
not  so  clever  as  Pamela.  He  knew  he  wasn't.  But  he 
had  a  good  brain  and  was  improving  it  all  the  time. 
He  told  Judith  something  about  the  course  of  study  he 
was  pursuing  at  Oxford,  but  she  was  disappointing 
about  that.  "  I  hate  learning  things,"  she  said ;  "  at 
least  I  hate  sitting  down  to  learn  something.  I  like 
finding  things  out  for  myself." 

"  Well,  that's  the  only  way  of  finding  them  out,  isn't 
it? — real  stiff  things,  I  mean." 


300        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  it  is.  When  did  Napoleon 
die?  " 

Such  a  question  from  Pamela  might  have  made  Hor- 
sham  suspect  that  he  was  being  chaffed.  But  Judith 
didn't  chaff  him  in  that  way.  He  was  obliged  to  con- 
fess that  he  was  uncertain  of  the  exact  date,  but  would 
look  it  up  for  her  if  she  wanted  to  know. 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  the  exact  date,"  she  said. 
"  But  the  Battle  of  Waterloo  was  in  1815,  and  I  suppose 
he  was  getting  on  then.  I  didn't  know  till  the  other 
day  that  his  wife  was  still  alive." 

"His  wife!" 

"  Well,  widow,  then.  The  Empress  Eugenie  was  the 
wife  of  Napoleon,  and  she's  alive  still,  and  lives  in 
England." 

Horsham  did  not  laugh,  or  even  smile  at  her.  He 
felt  a  little  shocked,  but  would  not  have  let  her  see  it  for 
anything.  '*  Oh,  she's  the  wife  of  Napoleon  the  Third," 
he  said.  "  The  Napoleon  we  defeated  at  Waterloo  was 
Napoleon  the  First,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Judith  hurriedly.  "  Yes ;  of  course, 
I  ought  to  have  known  that.  I'm  glad  I  asked  you,  and 
not  anybody  else." 

This  little  episode  remained  in  Horsham's  memory. 
He  was  rather  surprised  that  Judith's  astonishing  ig- 
norance did  not  affect  him  more  disagreeably.  But  of 
course  a  young  girl  might  very  well  be  ignorant  of  the 
course  of  modern  history.  He  himself  had  not  known 
the  date  of  the  great  Napoleon's  death  until  he  had 
looked  it  up  afterwards.  Her  mistake  had  had  the  con- 
trary effect  of  making  him  feel  rather  tender  towards 


A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON  301 

her.  He  quite  understood  that  she  was  ashamed  of  it, 
and  would  have  hated  to  be  laughed  at  because  of  it. 
She  had  known  he  wouldn't  laugh  at  her.  That  was 
rather  touching.  It  was  pleasant  to  be  understood,  and 
trusted,  in  that  way.  Dear  little  Judith!  If  only 
Pamela  would  trust  him  like  that!  Perhaps  she  would 
some  day.  He  loved  her  very  much,  and  that  must 
surely  have  some  weight  with  her  in  time.  They  were 
a  wonderful  pair,  she  and  Judith.  It  wasn't  often  you 
found  two  girls,  quite  different,  as  charming  as  those 
two.  Oh,  Pamela  was  worth  waiting  and  hoping  for. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

APPBOACHES 

LADY  ELDKIDGE  came  over  to  the  Hall  the  next  morn- 
ing. Mrs.  Eldridge  received  her  with  bright  amiability. 
On  the  surface  they  were  friends  as  before,  but  the 
desire  for  one  another's  company  was  less.  They  had 
not  quarrelled  and  would  not  quarrel,  but  each  of  them 
knew  now  that  the  other  had  espoused  the  quarrel,  and 
that  it  was  beyond  their  powers  to  end  it. 

Lady  Eldridge  had  brought  news.  William  had 
taken  a  shooting  in  Suffolk,  and  she  was  going  to  join 
him  there  immediately,  to  get  ready  for  their  first 
party,  to  which,  however,  she  had  brought  no  invita- 
tion. "  It  has  all  been  rather  sudden,"  she  said  with 
a  smile.  "  But  William  is  like  that.  It  is  very  good 
partridge  country.  He  heard  that  the  shoot  was  to  be 
let,  and  ran  down  to  see  about  it.  It  seemed  to  be 
just  what  he  wanted,  so  he  closed  with  them  at  once." 

"  Lord  Crowborough  told  Edmund  yesterday  that 
he  was  buying  a  place  in  Suffolk,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge. 
"  Well,  my  dear,  it  will  be  dreadful  to  lose  you,  but 
under  the  circumstances  at  present  I'm  afraid  we 
shouldn't  get  much  pleasure  out  of  one  another  here. 
Perhaps  it's  the  best  thing.  Are  you  going  to  move 
your  furniture  there?  " 

"  But  William  hasn't  bought  the  place,"  said  Lady 
Eldridge.  "  It  is  extraordinary  what  tales  get  about. 

302 


APPROACHES  303 

He  has  only  taken  it  for  the  season,  furnished,  of 
course.  It's  a  very  nice  house,  and  his  idea  is  that  we 
shall  go  there  this  winter  when  we  are  not  in  London. 
But  there  is  no  idea  of  our  giving  up  the  Grange.  I 
hope  we  shall  be  here  next  summer,  and  that  every- 
thing will  be  happy  again  between  us." 

"  I  hope  it  will  be,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge  with  a  sigh ; 
"  and  I  wish  we  didn't  have  to  wait  until  next  summer 
for  it.  Little  things  always  seem  to  be  happening  to 
put  us  farther  apart,  and  nothing  ever  happens  to 
bring  us  closer  together." 

"  There  is  one  little  thing  that  may  help.  William 
is  sending  Coombe  up  to  Eylsham.  A  head  gardener 
is  wanted  there,  and  he  has  got  him  the  place.  He 
won?t  come  back  here,  even  when  our  tenancy  there 
ends." 

So  there  was  that  trouble  removed,  but  too  late  for 
it  to  have  much  effect.  Colonel  Eldridge,  when  he 
heard  of  it,  expressed  a  modified  satisfaction.  "  I'm 
glad  to  get  the  fellow  out  of  the  place,"  he  said, 
"  though  I  think  the  mischief  he  may  have  done  is  at 
an  end.  People  here  have  taken  his  measure,  and  he 
doesn't  seem  to  have  turned  anybody  against  me.  It 
has  happened  to  suit  William  to  clear  him  out  of  here ; 
if  he  had  meant  to  satisfy  me  by  doing  it  he'd  have 
done  it  in  a  different  way." 

He  expressed  some  doubt,  also,  as  to  whether  Lord 
Crowborough's  story  wasn't  true  after  all.  "  Eleanor 
hasn't  seen  him  for  a  fortnight  or  more,"  he  said. 
"  She  only  knows  what  he  has  written  to  her.  We 
know  that  the  place  is  on  the  market.  Very  likely  he 


304 

has  taken  it  for  a  time  to  see  how  it  suits  him ;  and  if  it 
does  he  will  buy  it.  He  hasn't  told  Eleanor  that  yet. 
I  don't  know  that  I've  any  reason  to  complain  about 
it,  if  it  is  so.  I  suppose  he  wants  landed  property  to 
support  his  new  title,  and  he  wouldn't  be  content  to 
wait  for  Hayslope.  My  life  is  pretty  well  as  good  as 
his.  At  any  rate  there's  no  definite  point  in  dispute 
left  now  between  us.  There's  no  need  for  him  to  turn 
his  back  on  me  any  longer." 

"  Wouldn't  he  expect  you  to  take  the  first  step 
towards  a  reconciliation  now?" 

"  I  dare  say  he  would.  But  I'm  not  going  to  do  it. 
What  grounds  should  I  have  to  go  on?  There  aren't 
any.  At  the  same  time,  if  lie  puts  out  any  feelers,  I 
shan't  reject  them.  For  one  thing  it  is  getting  very 
tiresome  to  have  to  arrange  things  that  he  and  I  are 
both  concerned  in  through  lawyers,  and  absurdly  ex- 
pensive, too.  Of  course  that  doesn't  matter  to  him, 
but  every  penny  matters  to  me  now.  There  are  all 
sorts  of  little  points  that  a  few  words  between  us  would 
settle,  and  I've  got  to  make  a  formal  business  of  corre- 
spondence with  all  of  them.  If  he  no  longer  has  any 
feeling  for  me  as  a  brother,  there's  no  reason  for  him 
to  treat  me  as  an  enemy." 

He  had  not  mentioned  to  his  wife  that  Lord  Crow- 
borough  was  going  to  try  to  put  matters  straight  be- 
tween him  and  his  brother,  but  it  was  very  much  in  his 
mind.  He  was  beginning  to  have  an  uneasy  feeling 
.that  if  he  had  held  himself  a  little  less  stiffly  no 
estrangement  need  have  occurred.  He  had  been  right, 
he  thought,  in  every  point  of  their  dispute,  and  his 


APPROACHES  305 

brother  wrong,  but  looking  back  upon  it  all  there  was 
nothing  that  should  have  led  to  an  actual  state  of 
enmity  between  them.  The  results  of  that  state  were 
pressing  hardly  upon  him.  There  was  a  great  deal  of 
business  in  connection  with  the  estate  to  which  William 
was  now  the  next  heir  that  had  been  made  easy  by 
their  meeting  so  often  and  being  so  of  accord  in  what 
should  be  done.  It  had  to  be  recognized  too  that,  in 
spite  of  his  determination  to  carry  out  his  own  obli- 
gations to  the  full,  William  had  done  much  to  grease 
the  wheels.  If  he  had  never  allowed  him  to  pay  money 
that  was  not  actually  due  from  him,  a  considerable  sav- 
ing  had  been  made  in  his  own  expenditure  by  William's 
ready,  open-handed  ways.  He  was  not  sure,  either, 
that  William  had  not  actually  paid  a  good  deal  here 
and  there  that  was  not  strictly  due  from  him.  He 
seemed  to  have  been  clever  in  getting  over  objections 
on  his  part,  and  making  it  all  appear  natural  and 
business-like.  You  might  say  what  you  pleased  about 
money  not  mattering  much  to  him,  and  about  his  taking 
a  pride  in  playing  the  bountiful;  but  it  would  be  un- 
gracious to  look  upon  that  side  only,  and  to  ignore  the 
undoubted  generosity  of  his  dealings,  and  especially 
the  impulse  to  cover  it  up.  It  was  that  generosity 
which  Colonel  Eldridge  was  missing  now,  even  more 
than  the  tangible  results  of  it,  though  the  lack  of  them 
was  making  his  days  dark  and  anxious.  In  fact,  he  was 
beginning  to  miss  William,  though  he  had  given  Lord 
Crowborough  to  understand  that  he  could  do  very  well 
without  him  for  the  future. 

Lord  Crowborough  lost  no  time  in  putting  his  good 


306         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

intention  to  the  proof.  He  was  seriously  disturbed 
at  the  state  of  things  revealed  to  him  by  his  old  friend. 
He  had  not  thought  that  the  quarrel  had  gone  nearly 
so  far  nor  so  deep.  In  talking  it  over  with  Lady  Crow- 
borough,  he  expressed  himself  doubtful  about  being 
able  to  do  much  to  mend  matters.  "  William  has  put 
Edmund's  back  up,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  not  altogether 
surprised  at  it.  Still,  Edmund  is  ready  to  make  friends 
if  William  gives  him  a  chance.  At  least,  he  is  quite 
willing  to  meet  him  again ;  and  if  they  come  together  I 
expect  they  will  make  friends." 

"I  think  it  is  all  very  absurd,"  said  Lady  Crow- 
borough.  "  I  feel  quite  sure  that  Colonel  Eld  ridge  is 
in  the  wrong  from  beginning  to  end,  and  I  very  nearly 
told  him  so  this  afternoon." 

"  But,  my  dear,  you  didn't  know  anything  about  it 
this  afternoon." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  did.  I  knew  there  was  something  amiss. 
It  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  be  civil  to  Colonel 
Eldridge;  he  is  so  obstinate  and  wrong-headed.  She 
backs  him  up,  too,  though  she  pretends  to  be  all  sweet- 
ness and  reasonableness.  I'm  sorry  for  her  though, 
for  I'm  afraid  they  have  very  little  money  now,  and  are 
going  through  a  bad  time.  I  was  a  good  deal  more 
friendly  to  her  this  afternoon  than  I  felt  like,  because  of 
that ;  and  I  must  keep  in  with  her  because  of  Pamela." 

"  Why  because  of  Pamela?  " 

"  Well,  I  hadn't  meant  to  say  anything  to  you  yet, 
but  I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  keep  anything  to  myself. 
Jim  is  in  love  with  Pamela.  She's  a  very  sweet  girl, 
though  her  parents  are  rather  tiresome.  I  don't  see 


APPROACHES  307 

any  reason  to  object.  Jim  might  marry  somebody  of 
higher  rank  or  with  more  money,  but  we're  not  wordly, 
as  I  told  Mrs.  Eldridge,  and  if  he  has  set  his  heart  on 
Pamela  I'm  not  sorry  for  it." 

"You  told  Mrs.  Eldridge?  You  talked  that  over 
together?  " 

"Well,  and  why  not?  Of  course  she  would  like  it. 
As  she  said,  with  four  daughters  and  two  of  them 
grown  up,  it  was  time  to  think  about  marriage  for 
them." 

"Did  she  really  say  that?" 

"  Not  in  so  many  words,  perhaps,  but  that  was  what 
she  meant.  You  wouldn't  object  to  Jim  marrying 
Pamela,  would  you?" 

"  No,  I  shouldn't  object,"  said  Lord  Crowborough, 
after  a  pause  of  consideration.  "  I  think  I  should  be 
rather  glad.  Pamela  is  a  very  charming  girl.  But  I 
doubt  if  there's  anything  in  it  all  the  same.  I  hap- 
pened to  notice  that  Jim  wasn't  much  with  her  this 
afternoon.  He  was  much  more  with  little  Judith,  and 
they  seemed  to  be  getting  on  extraordinarily  well  to- 
gether. Oddly  enough,  it  did  cross  my  mind  that 
something  might  come  out  of  that  by  and  by." 

"  It's  curious  you  should  say  so,  because  that  is 
what  Mrs.  Eldridge  seemed  to  be  hinting  at.  She 
never  says  anything  straight  out.  However,  we  shall 
see.  She  was  very  anxious  that  we  should  get  up  a 
picnic.  I  think  her  idea  was  to  help  matters  on,  though 
she  wouldn't  have  acknowledged  that.  I  shouldn't  have 
taken  to  the  suggestion  if  I  had  seen  any  reason  why 
matters  shouldn't  be  helped  on.  I  should  be  rather  dis- 


308        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

appointed  if  it  is  Judith  and  not  Pamela.  But  we 
shall  see.  I  shall  let  Mrs.  Eldridge  have  her  picnic, 
and  we  shall  see  what  comes  of  it.  Then  we  shall  know 
what  to  do." 

Lord  Crowborough  met  Lord  Eldridge  in  London 
by  appointment.  He  went  up  for  the  day,  on  purpose 
to  do  so.  It  was  a  little  unfortunate  that  Lord 
Eldridge's  engagements  prevented  his  accepting  an  in- 
vitation to  lunch,  for  a  more  leisured  conversation  in 
a  mellower  atmosphere  than  that  of  his  office  in  the 
City  might  have  led  to  more  satisfactory  results. 

For  the  mission  was  a  failure.  '*  I  shan't  take  any 
further  steps,"  said  Lord  Eldridge  firmly.  "  It's  very 
kind  of  you  to  want  to  bring  us  together  again,  and 
as  far  as  I'm  concerned  I'm  not  going  to  keep  up  a 
feud.  You  can  tell  Edmund  that,  if  you  like.  But  it's 
he  who  has  created  the  feud,  and  if  he  wants  it  ended 
it's  for  him  to  make  the  advance.  I've  done  every  mor- 
tal thing  that  he  has  wanted  me  to  do,  unreasonable 
as  well  as  reasonable,  and  it  has  been  of  no  use.  There's 
nothing  more  left  for  me  to  do." 

"  Well,  there  was  something — he  didn't  tell  me  what 
it  was — that  he  thought  you  might  have  done.  But  he 
said  he  didn't  mind  now  whether  you  did  it  or  not." 

"  Yes,  exactly.  That's  how  it  goes  all  the  time.  I 
don't  wonder  he  didn't  tell  you  what  it  was.  7  don't 
mind  telling  you.  I  was  to  dismiss  my  head  gardener, 
out  of  hand,  at  a  word  from  him.  I  didn't  se?  any 
reason  to  do  it,  when  I  had  looked  into  the  complaint, 
which  I  did  do.  But  I  have  taken  the  man  away  from 
Hayslope,  and  got  him  another  job,  solely  and  entirely 


APPROACHES  309 

to  remove  that  cause  of  complaint.  AncUnow  I'm  told 
he  doesn't  mind  whether  I  do  it  or  not.  Why,  he 
made  it  the  final  cause  of  the  split  between  us!  He 
wouldn't  come  to  my  house  again  as  long  as  that  man 
was  there.  I  haven't  seen  him  since,  and  really,  Crow- 
borough,  I  don't  want  to  see  him.  I  don't  know  what 
has  come  over  him,  but  there's  nothing  one  can  do  to 
placate  him.  I'm  not  going  to  take  any  more  trouble 
about  it."  He  turned  sharply  round  in  his  chair. 
"  What  the  devil  is  it  that  he  complains  of?  "  he  asked 
in  a  tone  of  strong  irritation.  "  I'm  just  what  I've 
always  been  to  him.  We've  always  got  on  well  together 
up  till  now." 

"  Well,  he  says  that  you're  not  just  the  same,"  said 
Lord  Crowborough,  with  weighty  insistence.  "  And 
I'm  not  sure  that  you  are,  you  know,  William.  Of 
course  you've  got  a  deal  more  money  than  most  of  us, 
and  that  seems  to  be  complicating  things  at  Hayslope." 

"  Complicating  things !  I'll  tell  you  this,  that  Ed- 
mund will  find  things  a  good  deal  more  complicated 
without  my  money  to  help  him  along.  He's  got  no 
head  for  business,  not  even  estate  business,  which  he 
thinks  he  knows  all  about.  I  don't  think  he  has  the 
least  idea  what  a  help  I've  been  to  him  over  that.  I've 
been  rather  keen  that  he  shouldn't  know.  But  now 
that  it  will  all  be  on  his  own  shoulders  I  think  he'll  find 
his  troubles  increasing  on  him  pretty  heavily." 

"Well,  do  you  want  that,  William?  Do  you  want 
that?  " 

Lord  Crowborough  had  scored  there.  "  No,  I  (don't 
want  it,"  said  Lord  Eldridge  in  a  tone  that  was 


310         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

almost  sulky.  "  At  least,  I  don't  want  him  to  be  pushed 
up  into  a  corner.  I  don't  think  it  will  do  him  any  harm 
to  get  some  idea  of  what  I've  really  done  for  him  dur- 
ing these  last  few  years,  all  the  same." 

"  I  know  how  generous  you  have  been,  my  dear  fel- 
low. I  know  that  we  were  never  to  mention  what  you 
did  over  that  unpleasant  business  of  Hugo's  with  Hor- 
sham,  but  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  I  saved  Edmund  trouble  and  disgrace  over  that, 
didn't  I?  I'd  have  done  anything  to  prevent  his  know- 
ing what  a  young  scoundrel  Hugo  really  was.  I  was 
going  to  say,  what  a  lot  of  thanks  I  get  for  it;  but 
of  course  he  doesn't  know.  I  haven't  told  you,  be- 
cause I  haven't  seen  you  since,  that  I  had  a  reminder 
of  that  business  the  other  day.  I  tried  to  warn  Ed- 
mund of  what  might  be  coming,  but  he  wouldn't  even 
listen  to  me.  Apparently  nothing  has  happened  yet, 
and  I  hope  nothing  will." 

"  What  is  it  ?  I  thought  that  was  all  over  and  done 
with." 

"  So  did  I.  But  do  you  remember  young  Barrett, 
who  was  one  of  them  that  evening,  and  was  killed  at 
the  same  time  as  Hugo?" 

'*  I  remember  his  name." 

"  His  mother  wrote  and  asked  me  to  go  and  see  her. 
She  thought  Hugo  was  my  son,  as  it  turned  out,  for- 
tunately for  Edmund,  or  he  would  have  had  the  story. 
She  had  found  among  his  papers  an  I.  O.  U.  of  Hugo's 
for  four  hundred  pounds,  and  a  statement  written  by 
himself  of  exactly  what  had  happened  on  that  night. 
It  was  a  pretty  damaging  indictment.  Although  I  had 


APPROACHES  311 

known  it  all  through,  it  made  me  ashamed  to  read 
it." 

"  What  kind  of  a  woman  can  she  be  to  want  to  show 
that  to  the  boy's  father,  after  he  had  been  killed  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  ought  to  have  told  you  that  she  didn't  show 
me  the  paper  until  she  knew  that  I  wasn't  his  father. 
It  was  the  I.  O.  U.  that  she  wanted  to  talk  about. 
She's  an  emotional,  I  should  say  rather  hysterical  sort 
of  woman.  It's  possible  she  might  have  shown  Edmund 
the  paper,  if  he  had  been  there  instead  of  me;  but  she 
hadn't  meant  to  do  so  when  she  wrote.  She  didn't  know 
what  to  do  about  the  I.  O.  U.  She  had  thought  of 
destroying  it,  but  couldn't  make  up  her  mind  what  to 
do.  I  offered  to  settle  it  then  and  there,  but  she 
wouldn't  let  me.  She  has  plenty  of  money,  and  when 
it  came  to  the  point  I  think  she  was  rather  ashamed 
at  the  idea  of  taking  it.  I  suppose  she  really  wanted 
the  luxury  of  a  little  fuss,  and  if  she  was  going  to 
behave  generously  about  it,  to  let  it  be  known,  at  any 
rate  to  Hugo's  people.  I  couldn't  do  anything  with 
her  except  that  I  think  I  made  her  understand  that  it 
wouldn't  do  her  son's  name  any  good  to  have  it  known. 
So  I  suppose  she'll  keep  quiet.  I  tried  to  make  her  see 
that  it  would  be  a  cruel  thing,  as  you  said  just  now, 
to  trouble  Hugo's  father.  I  told  her  that  he  didn't  know 
the  worst,  though  I  did,  and  you  did,  and  that  I  had 
settled  it,  as  far  as  it  could  be  settled.  She  seemed  to 
accept  it  all,  and  to  be  glad  that  her  mistake  had  pre- 
vented her  from  doing  something  she  might  have  re- 
gretted. But  I  can't  feel  sure  about  her.  He  was  her 
only  son;  *he  wants  to  keep  him  alive  in  some  way.  I 


318        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

saw  that  she  sent  a  subscription  of  a  hundred  pounds  to 
some  charity,  in  his  name,  only  a  few  days  ago.  You 
never  know  where  you  are  with  a  woman  like  that.  I've 
done  all  that  I  can." 

"  Poor  old  Edmund !  It  would  be  a  sad  thing  if  he 
had  to  know  about  it  after  all." 

"  Yes ;  I  don't  think  it  will  happen.  I  don't  in  the 
least  think  it  will  happen.  She'll  let  me  know  if  she 
wants  the  money.  She  practically  promised  me  that. 
I'm  rather  glad  now  that  Edmund  did  prevent  my 
warning  him  about  it.  I  had  just  come  from  her,  and  I 
felt  doubtful  as  to  what  she  would  do.  I  shouldn't  have 
told  him  everything — only  something  that  would  have 
broken  the  shock  to  him  if  it  had  come.  But  it's  weeks 
ago  now.  She's  apparently  decided  not  to  do  anything. 
I  think  the  danger  is  past." 

"  It  looks  like  it ;  and  I'm  very  glad  of  it.  Poor 
Edmund!  He  clings  to  that  boy's  memory,  though 
I'm  afraid  he'd  have  given  him  nothing  but  trouble  if 
he'd  lived.  You've  been  very  good,  William,  in  keeping 
the  worst  of  it  from  him.  You've  done  it  even  since  you 
quarrelled  with  him.  Now  look  here — can't  you  carry 
it  a  bit  further  and  make  friends  with  him  again?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  quite  ready  to  make  friends  with  him 
if  he  wants  it.  I've  told  you  so.  But  as  for  taking  the 
first  step,  which  I  suppose  is  what  you  want  me  to  do, 
I  tell  you  I'm  tired  of  taking  first  steps.  When  this 
absurd  dispute  began,  I  put  aside  one  offence  after 
the  other  from  him,  and  acted  on  what  I  thought  was 
beneath  it  all — I  mean  the  very  thing  you  rely  on — 
our  always  havingggot  on  well  together  as  brothers  and 


APPROACHES  313 

all  that.  He  didn't  rely  on  that.  Every  step  I  took 
was  made  the  basis  of  further  offence.  No,  I'm  not 
going  out  on  that  road  again.  If  he  wants  me  he 
knows  well  enough  how  to  get  me." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  dare  say  you're  in  the  right  and 
he's  in  the  wrong — all  the  way  through  if  you  like.  But 
it's  a  question  of  acting  generously." 

"I've  tried  to  do  that.  But  when  your  generosity 
is  thrown  back  in  your  face  time  after  time — !  No,  it's 
no  good,  Crowborough.  I'm  ready  to  put  it  all  aside 
and  begin  again;  but  I'm  not  going  to  make  any  more 
advances." 

With  this  Lord  Crowborough  had  to  be  content.  He 
made  the  most  of  it  to  Colonel  Eldridge.  William  was 
quite  ready  to  return  to  their  former  relations,  but  he 
was  still  sore  about  the  way  in  which  his  efforts  at  re- 
conciliation had  been  rejected,  as  he  considered. 
Couldn't  Edmund  himself  write  something  that  would 
put  it  right?  He  felt  sure  that  William  would  re- 
spond. 

"  I'll  think  about  it,"  saitt  Colonel  Eldridge.  "  I'm 
not  going  to  do  anything  in  a  hurry." 

He  thought  about  it  very  carefully.  He  wanted  to 
have  it  over.  William  had  said  he  was  ready  to  have 
it  over ;  but  did  he  really  want  it,  in  the  same  way,  or 
didn't  he  much  care?  His  whole  attitude  now  seemed 
to  show  that  he  hardly  cared  at  all.  He  was  leaving 
Hayslope  and  all  his  interests  there,  which  had  been 
much  to  him.  Now,  besides  all  the  other  interests  of  his 
successful  life,  they  counted  for  very  little,  and  he,  his 
brother,  was  just  part  of  them.  If  he  were  to  put 


314         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

aside  his  resentments,  which  still  caused  him  acute 
annoyance  when  he  remembered  their  successive  occa- 
sions, and  to  make  some  advance  towards  reconciliation, 
wouldn't  it  be  taken  as  just  an  indication  that  he  had 
found  himself  unable  to  do  without  William's  assistance 
and  was  ready  to  eat  humble  pie  in  order  to  get  it 
again? 

No,  he  couldn't  do  it.  William  would  no  doubt  re- 
spond effusively.  He  would  pretend  that  nothing  had 
ever  happened,  and  behave  with  that  excessive  brother- 
liness  which  he  had  always  found  it  difficult  to  respond 
to,  though  he  had  valued  it  as  expressing  the  feeling 
which  he  had  also  cherished.  With  the  memory  of  all 
that  would  have  to  be  ignored  still  fresh  in  his  mind,  he 
knew  that  he  could  not  meet  that  attitude  graciously— 
not  for  some  time  to  come.  It  would  be  a  false  inti- 
macy to  which  he  would  be  immediately  invited;  not 
false,  perhaps,  on  William's  part,  because  with  all  his 
late  offences  endorsed,  and  the  excitements  of  his  life 
taking  up  most  of  his  attention,  he  would  be  relieved 
to  be  able  to  give  his  impulses  play ;  but  certainly  false 
on  his  part,  who  must  have  time  in  which  to  get  back 
to  the  old  terms. 

What  he  would  do — and  it  would  be  a  great  conces- 
sion— would  be  to  write  directly  to  William  upon  some 
subject  with  which  they  had  been  dealing  through  their 
lawyers.  That  would  be  a  beginning,  from  which  they 
could  gradually  proceed  to  something  more;  and  in 
time  the  past  would  be  forgotten.  It  was  the  only 
way.  Neither  of  them  would  be  climbing  down,  and 
there  would  be  no  chance  of  still  further  misunder- 


APPROACHES  315 

standings,  from  a  correspondence  about  a  dispute  upon 
which  they  would  never  agree. 

Yes,  he  would  do  that  without  delay.  Perhaps  the 
process  towards  complete  reconciliation  would  not  be 
too  protracted.  His  spirits  rose  when  he  thought  of 
that. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ALMOST 

THEY  had  just  finished  lunch  at  the  Hall.  Pamela  was 
wondering  rather  disconsolately  what  she  should  do  with 
herself  for  the  afternoon.  The  times  seemed  out  of 
gear.  There  was  the  Grange  half  a  mile  away,  to  which 
she  was  accustomed  to  repair  if  there  seemed  to  be  noth- 
ing particular  to  do  at  home.  Aunt  Eleanor  was  there. 
She  had  come  over  this  morning,  but  Pamela  had  not 
seen  her,  and  she  had  made  no  suggestions  for  meeting 
later  in  the  day.  Norman  was  there,  with  his  two 
friends.  He  might  bring  them  over  some  time  during 
the  afternoon;  she  had  half  expected  that  he  would  do 
so  during  the  morning;  but  perhaps  they  had  been 
reading,  as  they  called  it.  Eric  Blundell,  the  one  who 
had  talked  to  her  most  the  afternoon  before  at  Pershore 
Castle  had  told  her  that  they  intended  to  read  very  hard 
during  their  stay  at  the  Grange.  Norman  had  been 
excessively  annoyed  with  her  when  she  had  last  seen  him, 
but  his  annoyance  seldom  lasted  long.  He  would  surely 
want  to  have  it  out  with  her !  She  would  rather  en j  oy 
that.  Anything  to  escape  from  this  deadly  blight  which 
seemed  to  be  settling  down  on  them  all ! 

She  had  stepped  out  of  the  window  of  the  dining-room 
after  lunch,  and  was  standing  there,  when  she  saw  Nor- 
man coming  towards  her  from  among  the  trees.  He 
was  alone.  He  must  have  hurried  over  his  lunch,  and 

316 


ALMOST  317 

left  his  friends  upon  some  pretext.  Perhaps  he  had 
done  that  so  as  to  have  it  out  with  her.  She  brightened, 
but  did  not  go  forward  to  meet  him. 

He  waved  his  stick  to  her,  in  his  usual  manner,  when 
he  saw  her,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  annoyance  on  his 
face  as  he  approached.  That  was  one  thing  that  was 
rather  nice  about  Norman.  If  he  ever  lost  his  temper, 
as  he  did  occasionally,  he  recovered  it  very  quickly. 

"  We're  going  off  for  a  joy-ride,"  he  called  out,  as 
he  came  up  to  her.  "  I've  come  to  fetch  you." 

"  Who  is  going?  "  she  asked,  "  and  where?  " 

"  Just  we  three  bright  young  sparks,  and  you.  We're 
going  in  Eric  Blundell's  car.  She's  a  flier,  but  she  only 
holds  four,  sitting  rather  snug,  or  we'd  have  asked  Judy. 
He  wants  to  go  and  see  some  cousins  who  live  at  Med- 
chester.  It's  about  forty  miles  there  and  another  forty 
back,  so  we  ought  to  start  at  once.  Are  you  on?  " 

She  was  on;  and  soon  they  were  walking  down  the 
wood  together. 

"  I  say,  old  girl,"  said  Norman,  as  soon  as  they 
started,  "  I  was  rather  shirty  with  you  yesterday,  and 
I'm  afraid  I  showed  it.  I'm  sorry.  You  won't  have  it 
up  against  me,  will  you  ?  " 

"  You  didn't  like  me  taking  notice  of  Fred  Comfrey, 
I  suppose." 

"  You've  hit  it.  I  always  say  you  can  see  a  thing  as 
quick  as  anybody,  and  I'll  maintain  that  against  all  and 
sundry." 

He  seemed  to  be  in  high  spirits.  It  was  grateful  to 
Pamela  to  find  him  like  that,  and  relieved  some  of  her 
soreness.  "  Fred  Comfrey  is  going  away  this  after- 


318        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

noon,"  she  said.     **  He  came  up  to  say  good-bye  this 
morning." 

"  Did  he?  Well,  we  must  try  to  bear  up  under  it. 
Is  he  coming  back  to-morrow  afternoon?  " 

*'  No,  he  isn't.  He's  going  to  London  to  start  work 
again.  So  you  won't  have  to  lose  your  temper  any 
more  because  of  him." 

"No.  That's  such  an  advantage,  isn't  it?  I  hate 
losing  my  temper,  especially  with  you.  It  wastes  such 
a  lot  of  time." 

"  You're  very  foolish  to  have  done  it  at  all.  You 
know  I  don't  really  like  him  much;  but  I  can't  treat 
him  rudely,  just  to  please  you." 

Norman  became  a  shade  graver.  "  I  said  to  myself 
that  you  couldn't  really  like  him,"  he  said.  "  But  I'm 
glad  you've  said  it  too.  You  see,  Pam,  when  you  think 
a  lot  of  a  girl,  as  I  do  of  you — I  mean  when  you  put  her 
high — you  don't  like  seeing  her  make  friends  with  some- 
body miles  below  her.  That's  really  how  it  was  when 
I  saw  you  going  off  with  that  creature ;  but  of  course  I 
was  an  ass  to  get  shirty  about  it.  You  see,  old  girl,  it 
means  nothing  to  you.  I  know  that.  But  probably  it 
means  a  good  deal  to  him,  and  you  give  him  a  handle. 
You  can't  afford  to  give  handles  to  people  like  that. 
At  least — no ;  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that.  I'm  not  going 
to  lecture  you  about  it.  You  do  exactly  what  you  like, 
and  I'm  sure  it  will  be  all  right." 

"  Well,  it's  self-denying  of  you  not  to  want  to  lecture 
me  about  it ;  and  I  think  you  can  trust  me  too.  Talk- 
ing about  it  at  all  makes  it  of  too  much  importance. 
So  let's  leave  off.  There  are  other  things  to  talk  about, 


ALMOST  319 

and  I  shouldn't  have  been  sorry  to  have  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  it  yesterday." 

"  Ah !  Well,  I  wasn't  ready  to  talk  about  those  other 
things  yesterday.  Now  I  am.  In  fact  it's  what  I  came 
over  to  do,  and  I  had  some  trouble  to  prevent  those 
other  lads  from  coming  with  me.  We've  got  plenty  of 
time.  Let's  sit  down  here  and  discuss  the  situation." 

They  had  come  to  the  stile  leading  to  the  meadows. 
Norman  perched  himself  upon  it.  Pamela  stood  in 
front  of  him,  with  some  indecision  in  her  face.  She  was 
not  quite  prepared  for  a  full-dress  debate,  and  the  after- 
noon's pleasure  was  in  front  of  her.  "  I  thought  you 
said  we  must  start  at  once,"  she  said. 

"  That  was  camouflage.  I  told  Castor  and  Pollux 
that  we'd  start  in  half  an  hour.  I  gave  them  two  glasses 
of  port  each  to  keep  them  quiet.  What  I've  got  to  tell 
you  won't  take  long.  It's  chiefly  that  I  investigated 
that  business  of  Coombe  for  myself,  as  the  governor 
didn't  seem  to  be  giving  it  enough  attention.  I  think 
Uncle  Edmund  made  a  bit  too  much  of  it,  because  it 
hasn't  really  done  him  any  harm ;  in  fact,  I  think  it  has 
rallied  the  enlightened  electorate  of  Hayslope  to  him. 
At  the  same  time  the  fellow  had  tried  to  make  mischief, 
and  I  think  the  governor  ought  to  have  sent  him  away 
for  it.  I  told  him  so,  in  a  letter  written  under  my  own 
hand  and  seal,  and  I  got  his  reply  this  morning.  I'm 
glad  to  say  that  he  had  come  to  the  same  conclusion 
himself,  and  Mr.  Coombe  departs  immediately.  So  that 
ought  to  end  it,  oughtn't  it,  Pam  ?  " 

"  I'm  very  glad  you  did  that,  Norman,"  said  Pamela, 
looking  down.  "  I  knew  you  were  trying  to  find  out 


320        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

something,  but —  Oh,  I  am  so  glad."  She  looked  up  at 
him,  smiling. 

"  Dear  old  girl,"  he  said  affectionately.  "  You  set 
Master  Comfrey  on  to  it,  didn't  you?  Well,  I'm  not 
going  to  say  any  more  about  that.  We  can  forget  all 
the  disagreeables  now — I'm  afraid  I  must  continue  to 
think  Master  Comfrey  one  of  them — and  be  as  we  were. 
I  think  we  ought  to  be  moving  on  now,  or  Castor-oil  and 
Pole-ax  will  be  getting  restive.  I  say,  mother  told  you 
about  the  shoot  in  Suffolk,  didn't  she?  It's  a  topping 
place.  I  expect  the  governor  will  want  to  ask  Uncle 
Edmund  to  come  up  and  blaze  at  'em  directly  they've 
made  it  up.  You'll  have  to  come  too.  It's  a  good  big 
house,  and  we  shall  be  able  to  put  up  lots  of  bright 
spirits." 

"  Oh,  it  will  be  heavenly  to  get  all  this  trouble  over," 
said  Pamela,  as  they  walked  on  together.  "  You  can't 
think  how  glad  I  am.  It's  like  a  great  weight  lifted  off 
me." 

"  I  know.  They're  both  of  them  a  bit  touchy ;  but 
they're  good  sorts.  I  knew  we  could  put  it  right  if  we 
took  it  in  hand.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  what  I'd  done 
yesterday ;  but  I  thought  it  would  come  better  if  I  could 
tell  you  that  it  was  all  finished  with." 

"  Oh,  Norman,  I'm  afraid  I  was  rather  horrid.  I'm 
sorry.  I'm  sorry  about  asking  Fred  to  help  me  too. 
But  let's  forget  all  about  him,  and  about  it,  and  enjoy 
ourselves.  It  will  be  rather  fun  this  afternoon,  won't  it? 
I  feel  I  can  really  enjoy  myself  now." 

She  chatted  on  gaily  as  they  climbed  up  through  the 
wood  at  the  Grange  garden,  and  hardly  left  off  chatter- 


ALMOST  321 

ing  and  laughing  as  preparations  and  adjustments  were 
made  for  their  drive,  and  she  was  packed  into  the  front 
seat  beside  the  owner  of  the  car.  It  was  Norman's  sug- 
gestion that  she  should  keep  company  with  his  friend 
Blundellovitch  on  the  outward  journey  and  with  his 
friend  Pollocksky  on  the  homeward.  But  he  altered  this 
arrangement  on  the  return,  and  insisted  upon  sitting 
behind  with  her  himself.  "  She's  my  cousin  and  not 
yours,"  was  his  argument,  "  and  I  find  I've  got  a  lot  to 
say  to  her." 

For  a  good  many  months  afterwards  Pamela  looked 
back  upon  that  expedition  as  the  last  entirely  happy 
time  she  had  had.  It  seemed  as  if  the  troubles  that  had 
been  darkening  her  home  life  increasingly  of  late  had  all 
been  swept  away,  for  she  had  no  doubt  then  that  her 
father  and  her  uncle  would  immediately  compose  their 
differences,  and  the  close  intimacy  between  the  two 
families  would  go  on  as  before.  It  had  not  occurred  to 
her  that  the  Grange  would  be  completely  unoccu- 
pied. Her  uncle  and  aunt  had  often  been  away,  for 
many  weeks  together,  and  she  had  sometimes  been  with 
them,  in  the  South  of  France  or  in  Scotland,  or  else- 
where. It  would  be  fun  to  go  to  the  house  in  Suffolk ; 
she  had  not  been  away  from  home  for  a  long  time,  and 
change  was  agreeable  to  her,  especially  in  that  company. 

So  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  hour, 
and  was  sparkling  and  radiant  with  happiness.  Mr. 
Blundellovitch,  as  he  was  called  throughout  the  after- 
noon, was  a  stricken  victim  of  her  charms,  and  Mr. 
Pollocksky,  though  unrighteously  deprived  of  his  op- 


322         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

portunities,  was  not  behind  him  in  admiration  of  her. 
They  had  a  merry  time  in  the  house  which  they  visited, 
and  started  homewards  so  late  that  it  was  dark  long 
before  they  reached  Hayslope.  During  the  last  half 
hour  she  and  Norman  talked  quietly  together,  her  hand 
in  his.  There  had  been  misunderstandings  between 
them,  as  between  their  parents,  but  they  were  done  away 
with  now,  and  they  were  as  close  together  as  they  had 
ever  been.  It  was  not  until  then  that  she  realized  that 
the  Grange  was  to  be  forsaken  in  two  days'  time,  which 
induced  a  slight  touch  of  melancholy,  not  unpleasing 
under  the  circumstances,  which  included  a  full  moon, 
and  a  delicious  astringent  hint  of  autumn  in  the  warm 
night  air.  Norman  wasn't  sure  that  even  the  partridges 
would  make  it  worth  while  to  exchange  Hayslope  for 
Eylsham  ;  but  Pamela  said  wisely  that  it  would  be  better 
for  their  two  families  not  be  be  so  close  to  one  another 
for  a  time.  "  When  you're  as  old  as  Dad  and  Uncle 
Bill."  she  said,  "  it's  more  difficult  to  make  up  a  quarrel. 
They'll  like  each  other  much  better  if  they  don't  see 
so  much  of  one  another  for  a  time." 

"  Yes,"  said  Norman,  "  I  think  that's  true.  They 
wouldn't  be  able  to  treat  it  as  you  and  I  should.  We 
might  have  little*  rows  occasionally,  but  we  should  al- 
ways make  them  up,  and  when  we  had  we  should  forget 
all  about  them  at  once.  That's  one  of  the  advantages 
of  being  young.  I  like  being  young,  don't  you?  It 
comes  over  me  sometimes  that  I  am,  just  as  it  used  to 
come  over  me  out  there,  *  I'm  in  France.'  But  I'm  not 
in  France  now,  and  I  shan't  be  young  any  longer  in 
half  a  minute  or  so." 


ALMOST  323 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  quite  follow  you/'  said  Pamela 
politely. 

"Oh,  I  follow  myself,  all  the  way.  Don't  you  see? 
Take  the  governor,  for  instance.  He  must  have  en- 
joyed himself  as  we're  doing  now  when  he  was  our  age, 
and  sometimes  thought  how  jolly  it  was  to  be  young. 
And  being  old  seemed  centuries  off,  or  at  least  so  far 
off  that  it  didn't  count.  Yet  here  he  is  thirty  years  or 
so  older,  and  it's  what  he's  doing  now  that  matters  to 
him.  It  isn't  that  it's  a  short  time  or  a  long  time.  It's 
just  that  time  doesn't  seem  to  count  somehow.  Look 
at  old  Horace,  we  three  Latinists  were  reading  this 
morning.  He  was  extraordinarily  alive,  and  aware  of 
himself,  so  to  speak.  But  nearly  two  thousand  years 
have  slipped  by  since  he  got  tight,  or  half  tight,  and 
played  the  goat  generally.  They  don't  count  when  you 
read  him,  and  another  few  years  won't  count  for  us 
when  we  look  back  on  to-day.  We're  here — now. 
That's  all  that  seems  to  matter." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  see  it  dimly,"  said  Pam.  "  Anyhow, 
I'm  very  glad  that  we  are  here  now.  It's  a  lovely  world, 
and  I  think  you  must  enjoy  it  more  when  you're 
young." 

The  next  day  there  was  some  coming  and  going  be- 
tween the  Hall  and  the  Grange,  but  the  shadow  of  im- 
mediate departure  lay  over  the  Grange,  and  it  was 
impossible  not  to  take  it  as  a  departure  more  significant 
than  it  had  hitherto  appeared.  Lady  Eldridge  might 
come  down  again  for  a  day  or  two  to  finish  her  pack- 
ings away  for  the  winter.  Norman  said  that  he  would 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

come  down  before  he  went  back  to  Cambridge.  But  the 
prospect  of  autumn  and  winter  passing  over  the  house 
emptied  of  its  usual  life  could  not  be  ignored,  and  as 
yet  there  were  no  signs  of  the  complete  reconciliation 
that  Norman  had  announced.  All  the  family  from  the 
Hall  were  at  the  Grange  during  the  afternoon  except 
Colonel  Eldridge.  Pamela  had  thought  he  would  come 
with  them  and  was  disappointed  because  he  didn't. 
Her  mother  and  her  aunt  talked  together,  but,  it  seemed 
to  Pamela,  not  in  quite  the  same  way  as  before. 

She  had  one  more  talk  with  Norman  alone.  They 
went  down  together  to  Barton's  Close,  not  with  any 
conscious  intention  of  visiting  the  scene  of  so  much  dis- 
turbance, but  probably  led  to  it  by  some  such  impulse. 
The  wide,  wood-enclosed  meadow  lay  quiet  and  deserted. 
The  soil  that  had  been  dug  up  for  the  plantings  over  a 
considerable  area  had  been  grassed  over  again,  with  the 
sods  cut  from  it,  but  the  design  of  the  garden,  as  far 
as  it  had  gone,  was  plain  to  be  seen.  It  would  never  be 
made  now.  That  thought  struck  them  both  at  the 
same  time,  for  they  had  taken  a  modified  interest  in  the 
project,  and  their  imaginations  had  played  about  the 
garden  that  was  to  have  been  made  here.  It  was  almost 
as  if  it  had  been,  and  was  now  destroyed. 

"  It's  a  pity,"  Norman  said.  "  However,  it  doesn't 
really  matter,  if  we  can  get  rid  of  the  bothers  that 
came  of  it." 

For  the  first  time,  the  thought  came  to  Pamela  that 
her  father  had  been  unreasonable.  But  she  put  it  away 
from  her.  "  It  wasn't  this  that  they  really  quarrelled 
about,"  she  said,  "  though  it  began  it.  Norman,  do 


ALMOST  325 

you  think  that  it  is  all  over?  I  don't  feel  quite  so  sure 
as  I  did  yesterday." 

Norman  didn't  feel  quite  so  sure  either.  He  had 
had  a  talk  with  his  mother,  and  though  she  had  agreed 
that  there  was  nothing  left  now  of  the  original  grounds 
of  the  quarrel,  she  had  not  treated  it  as  if  they  were  back 
on  the  old  terms  yet.  It  had  almost  seemed  to  him  that 
she  didn't  wish  that  particularly.  She  had  been  very 
quiet  about  it,  but  what  had  struck  him  most  was  that 
she  was  obviously  glad  that  they  were  going  away.  He 
knew  that  she  loved  the  home  that  she  had  made  for  her- 
self at  the  Grange.  She  had  not  even  seen  the  Suffolk 
house,  which  had  not  at  first  been  talked  of  as  if  it  were 
to  provide  them  with  more  than  a  place  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  their  shooting-parties.  Some  of  those  might 
very  well  have  been  for  men  only,  and  she  might  have 
preferred  to  come  to  the  Grange  at  intervals  instead  of 
arranging  for  everything  away  from  it,  as  she  was 
doing  now,  hurriedly  but  completely. 

But  he  didn't  want  Pam  to  think  that  they  were  leav- 
ing Hayslope  because  of  the  quarrel.  Better  debit 
something  to  his  father  rather  than  that ! 

"  Well,  all  this  sudden  pushing  off  is  rather  like  the 
governor,  you  know,"  he  said.  "  He's  kept  himself 
young  in  that  way.  He  gets  a  sudden  idea  into  his 
head,  and  that's  the  great  thing  for  the  moment.  I'm 
rather  like  that  myself.  Perhaps  Uncle  Edmund  thinks 
it  all  rather  funny ;  but — you'll  see — when  he's  been  up 
to  Eylsham  and  shot  a  few  birds  and  drunk  a  few 
glasses  of  good  old  tawny,  they'll  be  as  thick  as  thieves 
together  again." 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  Do  you  think  Uncle  William  will  ask  him  to  shoot 
with  him?" 

"  Why,  of  course  he  will."  But  as  he  said  it  Norman 
had  some  doubts  of  his  own.  Uncle  Edmund  was  a 
difficult  person.  The  disordered  ground  in  front  of 
them  seemed  to  cry  that  aloud.  His  father  was  about 
fed  up  with  it.  If  Uncle  Edmund  didn't  respond  gra- 
ciously to  this  last  attempt  to  satisfy  his  demands  there 
might  be  no  reconciliation  at  all.  There  was  nothing 
more  left  to  be  done,  and  he  would  just  have  to  be  left 
alone  till  he  came  round  of  himself.  If  Norman  read 
his  mother  aright,  she  was  already  preparing  for  that 
to  be  a  long  process. 

Moreover,  he  had  asked  if  Pam  couldn't  be  included 
in  the  first  party,  which  his  father  had  already  made  up. 
The  guns  were  to  be  three  of  his  father's  friends,  and 
Norman  and  Blundell  and  Pollock,  who  were  proposing 
to  pursue  their  course  of  reading  in  whatever  intervals 
of  leisure  might  jbe  left  to  them  at  Eylsham.  Only  one 
man  was  bringing  his  wife.  There  would  be  plenty  of 
room  for  Pam.  But  his  mother  had  said  that  his 
father  didn't  want  anybody  from  the  Hall  until  they 
knew  where  they  stood.  There  would  be  plenty  of  time 
later. 

So  there  was  something  that  couldn't  be  said  to  her, 
and  yet  she  must  know  that  in  ordinary  times  she  would 
have  been  asked.  Oh,  it  was  all  becoming  difficult  and 
beastly  again.  Why  on  earth  couldn't  Uncle  Edmund 
do  the  proper  generous  thing  for  once  and  put  an  end 
to  it  all  for  good?  Yesterday  they  had  been  as  happy 
as  larks  because  they  had  thought  their  elders  had 


ALMOST 

settled  their  quarrel.  Perhaps  they  had,  but  it  wasn't 
certain  yet,  and  in  the  meantime  here  was  poor  little 
Pam  getting  sad  about  it  again.  And  no  wonder,  with 
this  beastly  half-made  and  unmade  garden  in  front  of 
her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  why  did  we  come  down  here  ?  "  he  said,  turning 
away  in  impatience.  "I  hate  the  very  sight  of  the 
place.  Let's  go  back  and  find  the  others." 

They  went  back,  and  were  cousinly  to  one  another, 
but  careful  again  now  not  to  touch  upon  the  awkward 
subject.  The  cord  that  had  bound  them  together  so 
closely  the  evening  before  was  loosened. 

The  next  day  the  Grange  was  left  empty,  and  the 
gardeners  went  down  to  Barton's  Close  with  a  horse- 
roller,  and  flattened  down  the  places  where  the  ground 
had  been  disturbed. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

MISS    BALDWIN    LOOKS    ON 

To  Miss  Baldwin,  watching  the  progress  of  that  story 
in  real  life  which  she  found  even  more  absorbing  than 
her  favourite  fiction,  it  seemed  that  complicating  influ- 
ences were  coming  into  play,  as  summer  passed  into 
autumn  and  autumn  into  winter.  The  story  was  made 
the  more  interesting,  but  that  happy  ending  which  she 
rigidly  exacted  from  all  stories  that  should  earn  her 
approbation,  became  increasingly  obscured  to  her 
vision.  In  a  written  story,  you  know — if  you  dealt  with 
fiction  of  the  sort  that  you  could  trust — that  the  happy 
ending  would  come,  and  previous  troubles  to  be  passed 
through  only  threw  it  into  greater  relief  when  it  did 
come.  But  in  a  story  of  real  life  you  could  not  be  so 
sure.  In  real  life  things  sometimes  went  wrong  and 
remained  wrong,  which  was  one  reason  for  turning  for 
relief  to  the  right  sort  of  fiction. 

Fred  Comfrey,  upon  whose  suit,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, Miss  Baldwin  was  inclined  to  look  with  favour, 
went  away,  rather  suddenly.  Watching  Pamela  with 
sharp  but  sympathetic  eyes,  she  questioned  whether 
"  something  "  hadn't  happened.  There  was  some  talk 
about  Fred  at  breakfast  and  luncheon,  which  were 
Miss  Baldwin's  opportunities  for  getting  into  touch 
with  family  views.  He  was  taking  up  a  career  in  which 
he  had  already  attained  some  success;  and  a  still 

328 


MISS  BALDWIN  LOOKS  ON  329 

greater  measure  of  success  was  expected  of  him  now 
that  he  was  ready  to  throw  himself  into  it  again.  Col- 
onel Eldridge  seemed  to  believe  in  him,  and  to  like  him. 
Miss  Baldwin  could  not  interpret  anything  he  said  as  a 
sign  that  he  had  any  suspicion  of  Fred's  hopes  of  win- 
ning Pamela.  His  references  to  the  young  man  were 
hardly  to  be  labelled  as  patronizing,  but  there  was 
always  a  sense  of  difference  in  them ;  or  so  it  seemed  to 
Miss  Baldwin,  who  was  alive  to  such  shades.  She  did 
not  herself  attach  much  social  value  to  the  Comfreys. 
The  Vicar  was  the  Vicar,  ex-officio  on  an  equality  with 
her  employers,  and  so  treated  by  them,  but  he  was  obvi- 
ously of  a  different  clay  from  the  Vicar  of  Blagrove, 
for  instance,  who  with  his  family  were  of  the  intimates 
among  the  country  neighbours.  Mrs.  Comfrey  seemed 
hardly  te  consider  herself,  and  certainly  Miss  Baldwin 
didn't  consider  her,  on  an  equality  with  Mrs.  Eldridge. 
If  Fred  were  to  be  viewed  only  in  the  light  of  his  origin, 
it  would  not  be  surprising  that  the  idea  of  his  aspiring 
to  Pamela  had  not  yet  so  much  as  entered  the  head  of 
Pamela's  father. 

But  love  takes  small  heed  of  such  reckonings ;  other- 
wise, what  would  have  become  of  half  the  stories  that 
Miss  Baldwin  so  much  enjoyed?  The  strong  devoted 
young  man  who  was  to  fight  his  arduous  way  to  an 
eminence  which  he  might  fitly  invite  the  lady  of  his 
choice  to  share  with  him,  would  be  greatly  encouraged 
in  his  ascent  if  that  lady's  sympathies  were  with  him. 
And  they  might  be ;  for  she  would  see  in  him  from  the 
beginning  something  of  what  he  had  it  in  him  to  become. 

Were  Pamela's  sympathies  with  Fred  in  his  ,  coming 


330         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

endeavours?  Certainly  they  were.  She  agreed  with 
everything  that  was  said  about  the  merit  shown  by  a 
man  with  no  initial  advantages  in  making  his  way  in  the 
world  by  his  own  efforts  and  character.  But  there  was 
no  least  little  sign  of  a  personal  interest  in  the  result. 
If  there  had  been,  Miss  Baldwin  could  hardly  have 
missed  it.  There  seemed  to  be,  instead,  a  tendency  to 
close  the  subject,  whenever  it  was  opened,  with  some 
general  or  even  platitudinous  observation  which,  with 
other  signs,  persuaded  Miss  Baldwin  that  Pamela  had 
acquired  some  distaste  for  Fred  Comfrey.  But  she  had 
been  markedly  friendly  to  him  right  up  till  the  time 
he  went  away ;  so  what  could  the  reason  be  but  that  he 
had  "  said  something  to  her?  " 

Out  of  her  expert  knowledge  of  such  subjects,  Miss 
Baldwin  had  no  difficulty  in  conjecturing  what  that 
"  something "  had  been,  or  in  interpreting  the  slight 
indications  afforded  by  Pamela  as  proof  of  what  she 
had  always  supposed.  Pamela  had  given  Fred  her 
friendship,  but  never  in  the  smallest  degree  her  love,  and 
the  premature  declaration  of  his  love  for  her  had  come 
as  an  unpleasant  shock  to  her. 

The  effect  of  these  conclusions  upon  Miss  Baldwin 
herself  was  that  from  the  moment  she  formed  them  her 
sympathies  began  to  depart  from  Fred.  This  is  easily 
explicable.  Up  until  now  he  had  been  selected  by  her 
as  the  suitor  towards  whose  success  the  story  was 
directing  itself.  One  allowed  oneself  those  castings 
forward  in  the  early  stages  of  a  story.  But,  when  indi- 
cations began  to  be  dropped  that  a  particular  suitor 
was  not  intended  for  the  prize,  one  put  oneself  upon  the 


MISS  BALDWIN  LOOKS  ON 

side  of  whoever  else  seemed  likely  to  win  it,  thus  pre- 
paring for  full  participation  in  the  author's  ultimate 
design.  She  had  piled  upon  Fred  virtues  that  were  not 
too  apparent  as  long  as  there  seemed  reasonable  hope 
of  his  success;  but  now  that  Pamela,  if  she  read  her 
aright,  had  rejected  the  idea  of  him  and  his  virtues, 
they  seemed  much  less  to  her.  He  was  not,  unless 
Pamela  chose  to  reckon  him  so,  in  any  way  to  be  con- 
sidered her  equal.  He  might,  indeed,  if  the  story 
should  so  run,  quite  adequately  play  some  sort  of  vil- 
lain's part,  such  as —  But  it  was  too  early  to  cast 
forward  in  that  direction.  The  story  was  still  prog- 
ressing in  its  main  lines,  with  another  suitor  to  be  ob- 
served, and  an  evident  awareness  on  the  part  of  all  the 
characters  who  came  within  her  view  of  what  was  going 
on. 

She  had  her  opportunity  with  the  rest  of  taking 
occasion  to  watch  the  trend  of  events,  for  Lady  Crow- 
borough,  coming  over  to  Hayslope  on  a  day  of  early 
September  to  announce  herself  as  the  giver  of  an  elabo- 
rate picnic  entertainment,  had  graciously  included  Miss 
Baldwin,  who  happened  to  come  within  range  of  her 
vision,  in  the  general  invitation.  Miss  Baldwin  hardly 
supposed  that  she  would  enjoy  herself,  when  she  ac- 
cepted it ;  but  she  did,  and  not  only  because  of  the 
opportunities  it  gave  her  for  observation.  The  whole 
affair  was  like  a  scene  in  a  story — a  story  of  high  life 
— and  her  description  of  it,  in  letters  to  relatives  were 
full,  and  within  due  limits  enthusiastic. 

The  numerous  guests,  drawn  from  the  houses  large 
and  small  within  a  fairly  wide  radius,  assembled  at  the 


332         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Castle  at  about  eleven  o'clock  of  a  golden  morning. 
They  came  mostly  in  cars  of  their  own,  but  some  driv- 
ing, some  riding  bicycles,  and  a  few  on  horseback.  The 
horses  seemed  to  give  the  expedition  something  of  the 
flavour  of  a  past  time,  though  there  were  hardly  enough 
of  them  to  deserve  the  style  of  cavalcade,  such  as  must 
often  have  set  out  from  Pershore  Castle  in  days  not 
long  gone  by.  Pamela  rode  on  a  horse  provided  for 
her  from  the  Pershore  stables,  and  so  did  young  Lord 
Horsham.  So  did  a  niece  of  Lady  Crowborough's 
staying  in  the  house,  who  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the 
party,  and  seemed  to  be  responsible  for  many  of  the 
arrangements.  She  had  taken  particular  notice  of 
Miss  Baldwin  herself,  and  arranged  for  her  to  drive  in 
a  carriage  with  an  extremely  nice  clergyman  and  his 
wife  and  invalid  daughter,  who  were  spending  their 
holidays  at  a  farmhouse  near. 

There  were  refreshments  provided  at  the  Castle  be- 
fore the  start  was  made.  Miss  Baldwin  described  the 
Castle,  as  it  had  presented  itself  to  her — one  of  the 
stately  homes  of  England,  of  which  she  had  been  prom- 
ised a  more  extended  exploration  at  a  future  date.  The 
noble  owners  had  also  struck  her  favourably,  as  true 
representatives  of  the  aristocracy  of  our  favoured  land 
— stately,  too,  especially  the  Countess,  but  of  the  most 
courteous  manner,  and  without  a  touch  of  condescen- 
sion. 

The  scene  of  the  picnic  was  a  tract  of  primeval  for- 
est some  ten  miles  away.  There  were  ancient  gnarled 
trees  of  immense  girth,  with  little  secret  lawns,  and 
stretches  of  deep  bracken;  a  purling  stream,  and  an 


MISS  BALDWIN  LOOKS  ON  3S3 

outcrop  of  rugged  rocks,  where  the  picnic  feast  was 
held.  After  having  feasted  and  strolled,  the  party 
returned  to  the  Castle,  and  then  broke  up,  at  a  com- 
paratively early  hour.  A  simple  entertainment,  but 
quite  delightful  experience,  with  most  of  the  best-known 
people  in  that  part  of  the  County  attending  and  all 
expressing  themselves  as  having  obtained  the  acme  of 
enjoyment  from  it. 

Miss  Baldwin's  letter  did  not  disclose  what  seemed 
to  her  to  have  been  the  inspiration  and  intention  of  this 
highly  appreciated  entertainment.  It  was  so  much  a 
matter  of  her  own  discovery  that  she  hardly  dared  to 
lay  stress  on  it,  even  in  her  own  imaginings.  And  yet 
she  thought  she  could  not  be  mistaken.  There  was  a 
round  dozen  of  young  girls  there,  some  of  them  of 
more  obvious  social  importance  than  Pamela;  but  the 
honours  were  hers.  She  was  not  mistaken  there,  for 
the  nice  clergyman's  wife  asked  her  who  Pamela  was, 
and  seemed  surprised  to  hear  that  there  was  no  title 
attached  to  her,  as  there  was  to  some  of  the  others. 
And  the  nice  clergyman's  invalid  daughter  asked  her 
pointblank  whether  Pamela  was  engaged  to  young 
Lord  Horsham.  Both  Lord  and  Lady  Crowborough 
appeared  to  treat  her  as  if  she  were;  but,  as  Miss 
Baldwin  knew  that  she  was  not,  this  could  only  mean 
that  they  wanted  her  to  be.  Nor  was  it  too  much  to 
suppose  that,  by  treating  her  almost  as  the  most  hon- 
oured guest,  they  were  willing  that  all  these  country 
neighbours  whom  they  had  gathered  together  should 
know  that  they  wanted  her  to  be. 

And  yet  nothing  came  of  it.    The  few  days,  exciting 


334        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

to  Miss  Baldwin  because  of  what  she  was  expecting, 
which  followed  the  picnic  brought  no  announcement. 
Lord  Horsham  came  over  to  the  Hall  the  very  next 
day,  but  nothing  came  of  that,  as  might  so  confidently 
have  been  expected.  He  came  over  several  times  more 
before  he  went  back  to  Oxford  in  October.  He  was  the 
admitted  friend  of  the  family;  there  was  no  young 
person  who  was  there  more  often,  and  no  young  man  of 
those  who  came  to  the  house  who  could  be  considered  in 
the  light  of  a  rival,  now  that  Fred  Comfrey  was  off 
the  scene.  It  seemed  to  Miss  Baldwin  that  there  was 
an  air  of  expectation  abroad;  that  both  Colonel  and 
Mrs.  Eldridge  were  waiting  for  something.  And  the 
conviction  grew  upon  her  that  there  was  a  hitch  some- 
where. 

Where  was  it  ?  There  was  no  doubt  about  the  young 
man's  admiration  for  Pamela.  He  was  the  best  of 
friends  with  Judith,  and  very  nice  to  the  children,  as 
was  natural,  but  it  was  Pamela  who  drew  him.  Her  at- 
titude towards  him  was  frank  and  kind.  Oh,  she  did 
like  him,  and  was  bright  and  gay  when  he  was  there, 
though  not  always  so  at  other  times.  Could  it  be  that 
she  was,  after  all,  casting  thoughts  back  to  that  other? 
By  this  time  Miss  Baldwin  was  inclined  to  resent  such 
an  idea.  Fred  had  taken  his  place  in  her  scheme  as  the 
rejected  suitor,  and  it  now  seemed  to  her  that  Pamela 
had  never  treated  Fred  with  the  same  kind  of  friendli- 
ness as  she  treated  Horsham.  Couldn't  she  make  up 
her  mind  about  him?  Or  was  there  something  else 
going  on  that  delayed  the  wished-for  climax? 

It  came  gradually  to  Miss  Baldwin,  as  the  months 


MISS  BALDWIN  LOOKS  ON  335 

passed  by,  that  there  was  a  good  deal  going  on  at  Hay- 
slope  of  which  she  had  not  the  key. 

Life  was  duller  there,  and  sadder,  than  she  had 
known  it  at  any  time  during  the  two  years  she  had 
been  there,  even  during  the  last  months  of  the  war, 
when  Colonel  Eldridge  had  been  mostly  away,  and  the 
shadow  of  Hugo's  death  still  lay  over  them.  But  dur- 
ing that  first  winter,  when  things  were  beginning  to 
settle  down,  there  had  been  a  good  deal  going  on  that 
had  interested  Miss  Baldwin  in  her  first  experience  of 
the  life  of  a  country  house.  Very  little  of  it  went  on 
now. 

What  had  become  of  all  the  visiting  that  seemed  to 
play  such  a  large  part  in  the  lives  of  such  people  as 
the  Eldridge's?  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  never  slept 
away  from  Hayslope  during  that  autumn  and  early 
winter.  Pamela  went  away  twice,  and  Judith  once. 
Pamela  had  a  girl  friend  to  stay  with  her  for  a  week 
or  so,  and  an  aunt  of  Mrs.  Eldridge's,  who  had  been 
wont  to  spend  the  month  of  October  at  Hayslope  for 
years  past,  came  with  her  maid,  but  went  back  to 
Brighton,  where  she  lived,  after  a  week.  It  was  then 
that  Miss  Baldwin  first  realized  how  everything  was 
being  cut  down,  more  and  more  closely.  The  old  lady 
was  reported  to  have  said  that  she  didn't  get  enough  to 
eat,  which  was  of  course  ridiculous;  what  she  didn't 
get  was  the  elaborate  provision  that  had  struck  Mis* 
Baldwin  herself  when  she  had  first  come  to  Hayslope 
Hall.  Nor  did  she  get  the  service,  except  what  her 
own  pampered  grumbling  maid  gave  her.  Nobody  else 
came  to  the  Hall,  where  there  had  been  a  constant  sue- 


336        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

cession  of  guests.  There  were  only  enough  servants 
now  to  do  the  work  of  the  house  for  the  normal  family 
life,  which  was  also  being  reduced  all  the  time,  some- 
thing here  always  being  cut  off  or  something  there. 
The  drawing-room  was  shut  up,  the  billiard-room  was 
never  used.  Mrs.  Eldridge  gave  up  her  room  and  took 
to  the  morning-room,  which  all  the  family  inhabited. 
More  wood  than  coal  was  to  be  burnt  in  the  school- 
room, and  everywhere  else.  The  outdoor  staff  was  cut 
down  to  one  man  and  a  boy  for  the  garden,  and  Timbs 
for  stable  and  garage;  but  the  cars  were  little  used 
now.  The  light  supper  which  had  taken  the  place  of 
dinner  during  the  summer  was  continued,  except  for  the 
week  during  which  the  old  woman  from  Brighton  was 
there. 

There  was  never  any  discussion  of  these  and  other 
economies,  at  least  before  Miss  Baldwin,  and  there  was 
no  grumbling  at  them.  Colonel  Eldridge  was  far  more 
silent  than  she  had  ever  known  him,  and  she  thought 
he  was  ageing,  and  seemed  now,  when  she  saw  him 
sometimes  from  the  schoolroom  window  walking  alone, 
always  to  have  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  to  stoop 
slightly,  who  had  been  so  upright  and  active.  Mrs. 
Eldridge  was  just  the  same,  always  unruffled,  always 
well-dressed,  though  seldom  in  the  beautiful  clothes 
Miss  Baldwin  had  been  wont  to  admire.  Pamela  and 
Judith  had  taken  to  doing  things  that  had  been  done 
before  by  servants,  mostly  out  of  doors.  They  looked 
after  the  poultry  entirely,  making  a  pastime  of  it  to 
all  appearance.  And  they  had  taken  to  making  many 
of  their  own  clothes;  Mrs.  Eldridge's  maid,  who  had 


MISS  BALDWIN  LOOKS  ON  337 

also  looked  after  them,  was  much  occupied  in  house- 
work. No  word  ever  fell  from  either  of  them  to  show 
that  they  were  affected  by  the  change  in  their  circum- 
stances, which  by  now  had  come  to  be  a  complete  change 
from  the  way  of  life  lived  at  Hayslope  during  that  first 
winter  after  the  war.  Pamela  was  not  nearly  so  bright 
as  she  had  been ;  there  was  something  the  matter  with 
her,  though  it  was  not,  apparently,  discontent  with 
home  conditions.  Judith  was  much  the  same  as  she 
had  always  been,  sometimes  silent,  sometimes  uproari- 
ous; half  a  child,  half  a  woman;  but  Judith  had  not 
known  the  life  that  Pamela  had  known,  after  she  was 
grown-up.  Judith's  life  was  altered  chiefly  by  her 
emancipation  from  the  schoolroom.  Her  home  and 
what  went  on  in  it  was  enough  for  her,  as  it  was  for  the 
children. 

The  outstanding  difference  at  Hayslope,  greater 
even  than  the  changes  at  the  Hall,  which,  after  all,  did 
not  affect  the  core  of  family  life,  was  the  Grange  un- 
occupied. There  it  stood,  a  big,  rich  house,  from  which 
had  radiated  sociability  and  close  intimacy,  with  all 
its  rooms  shut  up,  its  chimneys  cold,  its  windows  shut- 
tered. There  were  a  man  and  his  wife  to  caretake,  and 
men  still  at  work  outside — more  than  there  were  now  at 
the  Hall,  though  their  only  task  was  to  keep  things  just 
alive  for  future  occupancy.  It  made  a  blank,  even  to 
Miss  Baldwin  and  the  children,  who  sometimes  went 
through  the  gardens  in  their  walks,  and  lamented  its 
desolation,  as  remarkable  by  contrast  as  if  it  had  been 
falling  into  complete  disuse.  Presently  there  seemed 
to  grow  up  about  its  forsaken  state  something  signifi- 


338         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

cant  of  a  change  more  unhappy  than  was  shown  by  a 
house  from  which  life  had  only  been  removed  for  a 
time.  What  did  it  stand  for  in  the  story  that  Miss 
Baldwin  was  tracing  out  for  herself  from  all  the  hap- 
penings around  her? 

Neither  Lord  Eldridge  nor  Lady  Eldridge,  nor  Nor- 
man, had  come  back  since  they  had  left  Hayslope  at 
the  end  of  August.  Nobody  from  the  Hall  had  visited 
them,  either  in  London  or  a-t  the  other  hoUse  they  had 
taken  in  the  country. 

Miss  Baldwin  was  not  in  the  way  of  picking  up 
rumours  at  Hayslope.  She  was  not  in  close  enough  con- 
tact with  the  family  in  which  she  lived  to  get  much 
from  them,  and  she  was  in  no  closer  contact  with  serv- 
ants or  with  people  outside.  But  she  could  not  help 
knowing  that  there  had  been  something  of  a  split ;  and 
indeed  that  was  now  taken  for  granted.  Alice  and 
Isabelle  knew  it.  "  Father  and  Uncle  William  aren't 
very  good  friends  now.  I  think  Uncle  William  takes 
too  much  on  himself  now  he  is  a  Lord,  and  father 
doesn't  quite  like  it.  But  they'll  be  friends  again  when 
Uncle  William  comes  back  to  Hayslope."  Isabelle  had 
said  that,  as  they  were  going  through  the  Grange  gar- 
den. Some  of  it  she  had  been  told,  some  of  it  she  had 
probably  made  up  for  herself,  for  Alice  had  contra- 
dicted her.  "  I  don't  think  it's  anything  to  do  with  his 
being  a  lord.  Auntie  Eleanor  is  a  Lady,  and  she's  just 
the  same ;  and  so  is  Norman." 

But  were  they  just  the  same?  It  looked  as  if  the 
estrangement  had  affected  both  families  by  this  time, 
though  on  the  surface  they  maintained  relations.  Col- 


MISS  BALDWIN  LOOKS  ON  339 

onel  Eldridge  corresponded  with  his  brother,  for  he 
sometimes  mentioned,  in  Miss  Baldwin's  presence,  that 
he  had  heard  from  him.  Pamela,  if  no  one  else,  had  been 
asked  to  stay  at  Eylsham.  Why  hadn't  she  gone? 
That  had  never  been  disclosed.  Norman  wrote  to  her 
sometimes,  from  Cambridge,  and  she  to  him. 

What  was  the  quarrel  about?  Money,  thought  Miss 
Baldwin,  having  come  to  this  conclusion  partly  be- 
cause in  fiction  it  was  generally  money  that  brothers 
who  had  reached  middle  age  quarrelled  about,  if  they 
quarrelled  at  all,  partly  because  of  the  now  patent 
contrast  between  the  wealth  that  exuded  from  Lord 
Eldridge  and  the  lack  of  it  that  was  increasingly  in 
evidence  at  the  Hall.  She  could  find  no  simple  explana- 
tion of  why  this  state  of  things  should  have  brought 
about  a  quarrel,  but  its  effects  were  now  remarkable 
enough.  The  younger  brother  was  a  rich  man,  and  a 
lord,  the  elder,  in  spite  of  his  large  house  and  his  es- 
tates, was  seen  to  be  a  poor  one.  Surely  the  younger 
ought  to  have  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  elder  be- 
fore this!  He  was  not  only  not  doing  that;  he  was 
holding  off  from  him.  Dark  work,  somewhere ! 

Early  in  December  Fred  Comfrey  paid  a  visit  to 
Hayslope,  and  Miss  Baldwin's  interest  returned  to 
Pamela  and  her  story,  which  had  fallen  into  the  sec- 
ond place  of  late,  because  of  what  was  happening  other- 
wise. It  seemed  to  her  that  Pamela's  attitude  towards 
him  was  entirely  different  from  what  it  had  been.  She 
was  friendly,  but  seemed  on  the  alert  not  to  be  left 
alone  with  him.  His  dejection  was  plain  to  be  seen. 
Colonel  Eldridge  seemed  glad  to  see  him ;  otherwise  he 


340         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

would  probably  not  have  been  asked  to  the  house  more 
than  once,  during  the  two  days  of  his  visit.  He  came 
on  Saturday  morning  and  stayed  to  lunch ;  and  he 
came  again  to  lunch  on  Sunday  and  stayed  most  of 
the  afternoon.  But  Pamela  had  bicycled  over  after 
church  to  a  house  a  few  miles  off,  and  did  not  return 
until  he  had  gone. 

At  supper  on  Sunday  evening  the  veil  was  lifted  for  a 
moment  from  what  had  been  puzzling  Miss  Baldwin ; 
but  what  was  revealed  only  puzzled  her  more. 

Colonel  Eldridge  talked  about  Fred,  and  said:  "He 
has  been  doing  business  with  William — seen  quite  a  lot 
of  him." 

Pamela  looked  up  surprised.  "  He  never  told  me 
that,"  she  said. 

That  was  all.  The  veil  was  dropped  again  imme- 
diately. Lord  Eldridge  was  mentioned  sometimes  be- 
fore Miss  Baldwin,  perhaps  to  keep  up  appearances; 
but  she  was  not  to  hear  anything  about  him  that  mat- 
tered. All  that  she  gathered  from  this  was  that  Colo- 
nel Eldridge  saw  nothing  to  object  to  in  a  business 
connection  between  Lord  Eldridge  and  Fred  Comfrey, 
and  that  Pamela  was  surprised,  and  apparently  dis- 
pleased at  it.  Or  perhaps  her  displeasure  was  only  at 
Fred's  not  having  told  her.  But  she  hadn't  given  him 
much  opportunity  of  telling  her  anything.  It  was  all 
very  difficult;  but  what  seemed  to  be  plain  was  that 
Fred  Comfrey  could  now  be  ruled  out  as  a  suitor, 
though  he  might  not  yet  consider  himself  so. 

This  was  quite  what  Miss  Baldwin  wished  by  this 
time,  and  her  satisfaction  was  increased  when  Lord 


MISS  BALDWIN  LOOKS  ON  341 

Horsham  soon  afterwards  reappeared  on  the  scene. 
He  was  received  in  a  very  different  way.  It  really 
seemed  at  last  as  if  something  were  going  to  happen. 
Miss  Baldwin  had  come  to  hold  a  high  opinion  of  Lord 
Horsham,  as  a  young  man  of  sober,  steady  habits  who 
would  make  an  excellent  husband  even  for  so  fine  a 
flower  of  girlhood  as  Pamela,  and  this  altogether  apart 
from  the  rich  gilding  of  his  title  and  inheritance.  But 
he  had  not,  previously,  presented  himself  to  her  as  one 
whose  coming  might  be  expected  to  enliven  a  whole 
household.  That,  however,  was  the  effect  of  his  fre- 
quent visits  during  the  early  part  of  his  Christmas 
vacation.  And  what  could  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Eld- 
ridge's  lively  welcome  of  him  mean  but  that  they  also 
thought  something  might  be  about  to  happen?  What 
could  Pamela's  lighter  spirits  mean  but  that  she  was 
getting  ready  for  something  to  happen?  Judith  and 
the  children  might  not  yet  have  had  their  eyes  opened 
to  the  possibilities  of  the  happening,  but  they  all  three 
made  much  of  Lord  Horsham.  That  might  partly  be 
accounted  for  by  the  rarity  of  such  visits  as  his  in 
these  ,days ;  but  on  his  side  there  seemed  to  be  a  con- 
scious desire  to  stand  well  with  them,  and  a  success  in 
the  endeavour  which  was  agreeable  to  watch.  If  Pam- 
ela did  marry  him,  her  family  might  be  expected  to 
share  some  of  the  tangible  fruits  of  the  alliance.  They 
could  hardly  be  said  to  have  gone  down  in  the  world — 
that  dreadful  phrase  which  sometimes  suggested  itself 
to  Miss  Baldwin — if  the  eldest  son  of  an  Earl,  who 
lived  in  an  ancient  Castle,  took  his  bride  from  their 
house. 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Miss  Baldwin  went  home  for  three  weeks'  holiday  at 
Christmas,  hoping  that  on  her  return  a  new  chapter 
in  the  romance  would  be  ready  for  her  perusal.  It  had 
reached  the  point  at  which  developments  of  some  sort 
could  not  long  be  delayed. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BEFOBE    CHRISTMAS 

CHRISTMAS  had  always  been  a  great  family  occasion  at 
Hayslope.  For  years  before  the  William  Eldridges 
had  come  to  live  at  the  Grange  they  had  spent  their 
Christmases  at  the  Hall,  and  there  had  sometimes  been 
other  relations  there.  This  year  an  indeterminate 
spinster  cousin  of  Mrs.  Eldridge's  was  coming,  but  no 
other  guests.  Lord  Eldridge  would  be  entertaining  a 
party  at  Eylsham  Hall,  duly  announced  in  the  press. 

It  was  this  announcement  that  seemed  to  Pamela  to 
complete  and  establish  the  breach  between  the  two  fam- 
ilies. "  Why  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  her  mother.  "  I  thought 
that  father  and  Uncle  William  were  more  or  less 
friends  again  now.  They  write  to  each  other.  Uncle 
William  sent  his  love  to  us  in  a  letter  he  wrote  the 
other  day." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  with  a  sigh.  "  But 
there  it  begins  and  ends.  Father  would  have  been  quite 
willing  to  make  it  up  any  time  during  the  last  few 
months;  but  Uncle  William  doesn't  seem  to  want  to. 
He's  got  quite  away  from  us,  you  see.  He's  in  the  big 
world,  and  we're  not.  I  suppose  he  doesn't  think  about 
us  any  more." 

"  But  Auntie  Eleanor !     She  writes  to  you,  mother." 

"  Oh,  ye«,"  she  said  again.  "  We've  never  quar- 
relled." 

343 


344 

"But  won't  it  ever  end,  mother?  Just  look  at  the 
difference — what  happy  Christmases  we  used  to  spend 
all  together!  And  now  there's  no  idea  of  our  being 
together  at  all.  Didn't  you  ask  them  to  come  here 
for  Christmas  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  didn't  tell  father,  but  I  wrote  to  Auntie 
Eleanor  and  asked  her  if  they  would  come  if  we  did  ask 
them.  I  thought  it  might  bring  us  all  together  again. 
But  of  course  it  would  have  been  worse  if  we  had  asked 
them  and  they  had  refused.  She  wrote  very  nicely,  as 
she  always  does ;  but  William  had  already  made  up  his 
party,  or  some  of  it.  I  dare  say  what  happened  was 
that  he  found  he  could  get  somebody  that  he  particu- 
larly wanted  then,  and  asked  the  rest  to  meet  him — or 
her,  or  them.  I  don't  know.  When  people  once  begin 
to  chase  other  people,  for  their  names  or  their  positions 
or  whatever  it  is  that  attracts  them,  it — well,  it  becomes 
a  habit.  Other  sociabilities  have  to  give  way  to  it." 

This  was  rather  painful  to  Pamela.  "  But  Auntie 
Eleanor  isn't  like  that,  mother  dear." 

It  was  half  a  question.  "  No,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge, 
quite  decisively.  "  She  and  I  have  often  talked  that 
over.  At  least,  we  used  to,  before  we  settled  it  be- 
tween us,  for  good  and  all.  It  simply  isn't  worth  while 
to  make  friends  with  anybody  for  any  other  reason  than 
because  you  like  them  for  themselves,  and  not  for  what 
they've  got.  Now  you're  grown  up,  darling,  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I  was  rather  inclined  at  one  time 
— oh,  years  and  years  ago — to  want  to  get  myself  in 
everywhere.  It's  easy  enough,  if  you  have  a  certain 
position  to  begin  with,  and  enough  money.  And  I  was 


BEFORE  CHRISTMAS  345 

quite  good-looking,  when  I  was  first  married,  and — " 

"  You  are  now,  mother  darling,"  said  Pamela,  with 
a  laugh :  *'  but  do  go  on." 

"  I  don't  say  that  there's  not  some  fun  to  be  got  out 
of  it,"  Mrs.  Eldridge  continued.  "  Of  course  I  don't 
mean  just  the  vulgar  sort  of  climbing;  but  it's  amusing 
to  feel  that  you  belong  to  everything,  and  people  want 
you,  instead  of  your  wanting  them.  Still,  it's  never 
worth  while  in  the  long  run.  Eleanor  saw  that  quite 
clearly,  from  the  beginning,  and  she  made  me  see  it. 
It's  one  of  the  things  that  I  have  to  thank  her  for." 

"  Oh,  mother,  it's  dreadful  that  you  have  to  be  apart 
now.  Don't  you  feel  it  very  much  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  But  not  so  much  as  I  should  have 
done  a  few  years  ago.  You're  grown  up  now,  you  see. 
Besides,  I've  got  used  to  the  quiet  life.  I  don't  really 
want  anything  else  now,  as  long  as  one  can  live  with- 
out too  much  anxiety.  I  only  discovered  that  a  short 
time  ago.  Eleanor  was  always  preaching  it  to  me ;  but 
now  she's  getting  farther  away  from  it  herself,  poor 
dear.  I'm  sorry  for  her." 

Pamela's  direct  mind  was  apt  to  be  a  little  puzzled 
by  her  mother.  It  was  not  always  easy  to  recognize 
the  source  of  her  speeches,  or  whether  she  was  serious 
or  only  amusing  herself.  "  Do  you  mean  that  you're 
really  sorry  for  her?  "  she  asked.  "  I  suppose  she 
needn't  get  away  from  the  sort  of  life  she  likes,  if  she 
doesn't  want  to." 

"  She  can't  help  herself.  She  loves  William.  I  love 
father,  and  I  want  what  he  wants.  It's  the  same  with 
her.  But  what  he  wants  happens  to  be  more  satisfy- 


346    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

ing  than  what  William  wants.  It's  only  rather  tiresome 
that  just  as  I  have  discovered  that  for  myself  it's  be- 
ginning to  be  difficult  to  have  anything  at  all  that  one 
wants.  I've  been  wanting  to  tell  you  something  for 
some  time,  Pam  darling,  but  I've  put  it  off  because  I 
went  on  hoping  that  it  might  not  be  necessary.  Don't 
tell  the  others  yet,  but  I'm  afraid  it  has  to  come.  We 
can't  afford  to  go  on  living  here." 

Pamela  looked  down.  "  Poor  old  Daddy ! "  she 
said. 

"  Yes,  it's  for  him  I  feel  it  more  than  for  ourselves. 
It  seems  to  be  impossible  for  a  country  gentleman  to 
live  in  his  own  house  nowadays,  unless  he  has  an  in- 
come apart  from  it.  Daddy  never  had  much  that 
wasn't  tied  up,  and  what  he  did  have  is  all  gone  now. 
I  don't  think  we  can  get  expenses  down  any  farther 
here;  it  is  just  coming  to  be  a  great  anxiety.  It  was 
I  who  said  I  thought  we  ought  to  go.  He  could  hardly 
have  brought  himself  to  propose  it  before  it  became  ab- 
solutely impossible,  as  it  isn't  quite,  yet." 

"  Do  you  mean  he  is  going  to  sell  Hayslope, 
mummy  ?  " 

"  No,  darling,  he  couldn't  do  that ;  he  only  has  a  life 
interest.  He'll  try  to  let  the  house  and  the  shooting. 
It's  just  that  we  can't  afford  to  keep  up  a  house  of  this 
size,  for  ourselves  to  live  in.  We  should  be  quite  well 
off  in  a  smaller  house,  and  with  the  rent  for  this  com- 
ing in,  if  it  can  be  let." 

"  Where  should  we  go,  mother?  " 

"  That's  the  difficulty.  Father  wants  to  be  here,  to 
look  after  the  property.  If  the  Grange  hadn't  been 


BEFORE  CHRISTMAS  347 

enlarged  to  such  an  extent,  we  could  have  gone  there; 
but  there's  no  good  thinking  of  that.  It  would  cost 
as  much  to  live  there  now  as  to  live  here.  We  have 
thought  of  Town  Farm.  It  was  a  Manor  house  at  one 
time,  but  it  would  take  a  lot  of  money  to  put  it  back 
now,  and  make  it  nice  to  live  in.  I'm  afraid  it's  either 
that,  or  going  quite  away.  But  there's  no  need  to 
hurry  anything.  We  shan't  go  away  just  yet.  Don't 
tell  Judith,  or  the  children  yet." 

"  No,  mother,  of  course  not.  Don't  you  think  I 
could  go  out  and  do  something?  So  many  girls  do 
now.  I'm  sure  I  could  make  my  own  living  if  I  tried." 

"  There's  no  necessity,  darling.  And  I  think  father 
would  hate  that  more  than  anything.  I  know  he  would 
like  you  to  stay  at  home  until  you  marry." 

Was  this  an  invitation  to  her  to  unburden  herself? 
Her  mother  had  never  mentioned  marriage  to  her  be- 
fore. If  it  was,  she  did  not  take  it  up.  "  There  are 
lots  of  things  I  can  do  at  home,"  she  said.  "And 
Judith,  too.  You  know  we'll  do  all  we  can,  mother 
dear." 

"  Oh,  yes,  darling.  I  think  that  if  we  can  find  a  nice 
house  somewhere  in  the  country,  much  smaller  than  this, 
but  big  enough  for  us  to  be  happy  in,  it  will  lift  a 
good  deal  of  the  burden.  Poor  Daddy  is  getting  more 
and  more  depressed  about  everything,  though  he  is 
trying  to  keep  it  from  us  all  the  time.  It's  very  hard 
that  it  should  be  like  this  now  for  men  who  have  done 
what  he  has.  It  all  comes  from  the  horrible  war;  and 
yet  there  are  some  people  who  hare  done  nothing  but 
thrive  on  it." 


348        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

There  was  no  need  to  dot  the  i's  of  that  speech. 
Pamela  didn't  want  to  talk  about  her  uncle,  even  to 
her  mother.  There  was  no  satisfaction  to  be  gained 
from  blaming  him,  but  she  did  blame  him  now  in  her 
heart,  and  she  thought  that  her  mother  did  too.  Would 
he  stand  by  and  see  them  leave  their  home  without 
doing  anything?  Of  course  he  could  do  something, 
if  he  wanted  to.  But  he  didn't  seem  to  care  now. 
Did  her  aunt  care?  She  was  sure  that  she  did,  but 
she  had  apparently  resigned  herself  to  the  new  un- 
happy state  of  things  between  them.  Did  Norman 
care  ? 

He  had  written  to  Pamela  from  Cambridge,  not  less 
frequently  than  during  previous  terms,  and  in  much 
the  same  way.  Some  of  his  letters  had  made  her  laugh, 
but  not  with  the  old  light-hearted  appreciation  of  his 
humour.  What  mattered  to  her  most  just  now  he 
never  mentioned.  Once  he  had  represented  himself  as 
on  the  verge  of  another  love  affair,  with  the  daughter 
of  a  Don  of  another  college,  to  which  he  said  he  was 
thinking  of  migrating.  But  she  did  not  smile  at  all  at 
that.  She  was  beginning  to  be  impatient  of  Norman's 
love  affairs,  which  never  lasted  more  than  a  few  weeks. 
This  one  didn't  last  so  long  as  that  apparently,  for  he 
did  not  allude  to  it  again.  If  he  had  done  so,  Pamela 
would  have  written  him  a  letter  in  which  she  would  have 
said  that  she  didn't  want  to  hear  any  more  about  his 
philanderings,  and  she  was  inclined  to  regret  that  the 
opportunity  was  denied  her.  Norman  never  said  any- 
thing about  Christmas,  though  in  previous  years  his 
letters  had  been  full  of  anticipations.  He  seemed  to 


BEFORE  CHRISTMAS  349 

be  quite  content  at  the  prospect  of  their  spending  it 
apart. 

Oh,  life  was  unhappy  now.  But  there  remained  the 
duty  of  hiding  unhappiness  as  much  as  possible.  Pam- 
ela was  a  good  deal  with  her  father  in  these  days,  and 
she  knew  that  he  liked  to  have  her  with  him,  though 
he  never  talked  to  her  about  his  troubles.  Well,  it  was 
something  to  be  able  to  remove  his  mind  from  them. 
She  was  able  to  do  that,  though  she  seemed  to  be  of  so 
little  use  otherwise. 

The  usual  preparations  for  Christmas  went  on, 
though  on  a  smaller  scale  than  before.  The  children 
mustn't  know  that  for  their  elders  all  such  preparations 
were  something  of  an  extra  burden  instead  of  a  pleas- 
ure. Even  Judith  refused  to  be  exhilarated  by  them. 
"  What's  the  good  of  holly  and  mistletoe,"  she  said, 
"  with  only  old  Cousin  Annie  coming  ?  I  think  Uncle 
William's  a  beast.  I  never  liked  him,  and  now  I  hate 
him." 

Pamela  protested.  Judith  had  been  as  fond  of  Uncle 
William  as  all  the  rest  of  them.  "  Perhaps  I  was  when 
I  was  little,"  she  admitted.  "  But  I  haven't  liked  him 
at  all  since  he  has  been  Lord  Eldridge.  Father  ought 
to  have  been  Lord  Eldridge,  if  anybody  had  to  be. 
But  I  hate  lords,  except  Jim ;  and  he  isn't  like  a  lord." 

Pamela  laughed.  "  What  is  he  like  then  ? "  she 
asked. 

Judith  did  not  reply  to  this.  "  I  think  you  ought 
to  marry  him,"  she  said,  with  her  sometimes  disconcert- 
ing abruptness.  "  He  wants  you  to,  and  you  couldn't 
get  anybody  better.  Besides,  father  and  mother  would 


350        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

like  it.  With  four  of  us,  and  being  rather  poor  now,  of 
course  they  would  like  us  to  get  married." 

"  How  do  you  know  Jim  would  like  me  to  marry 
him?"  asked  Pamela. 

"  Because  he  told  me  so." 

This  was  rather  surprising  news.  Pamela  would  have 
liked  to  ask  if  he  had  told  Judith  of  his  proposal,  but 
Judith  saved  her  the  trouble.  "  It  was  quite  plain 
what  he  wanted,"  she  said,  "  so  I  asked  him  about  it. 
You  needn't  tell  him  that  I  told  you  so.  I  like  Jim, 
and  I  want  to  see  him  properly  treated.  Besides,  if 
you  married  Jim,  I  could  come  and  stay  with  you." 

"  Well,  you  could  come  and  stay  with  me  whoever  I 
married ;  but  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  marry  your- 
self, as  soon  as  I  do.  What  did  Jim  say  when  you 
asked  him?  " 

"  He  said  there  was  nothing  he  wanted  more ;  but  he 
knew  you  didn't  want  it  yet.  I  thought  that  was 
rather  nice  of  him.  Jim  has  a  very  nice  sort  of  mod- 
esty. Most  young  men  nowadays  think  such  a  lot  of 
themselves." 

Pamela  laughed  at  this.  "What  young  men?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Well,  Norman  for  one.  I  like  Norman  all  right, 
but  he  isn't  modest,  like  Jim.  And  I  don't  think  he's 
behaving  very  well  now.  He  could  come  and  see  us,  if 
he  wanted  to.  I  suppose  he  couldn't  very  well  come 
for  Christmas,  and  leave  all  the  lords  and  ladies  they 
are  going  to  have  to  stay  with  them ;  but  he  might  come 
some  time.  He  left  Cambridge  long  ago." 

"Only  just  over  a  week  ago,"  said  Pam.     But  she 


BEFORE  CHRISTMAS  351 

thought  herself  that  Norman  might  have  come.  He 
was  staying  with  some  friends  in  Ireland  now.  There 
were  several  young  girls  in  the  family,  or  in  the  party. 
Perhaps  he  was  falling  in  love  with  one  of  them.  As 
he  had  been  there  for  some  days,  and  was  going  to  stay 
for  another  week,  there  would  almost  be  time  to  fall  in 
love  with  two,  successively.  Pamela  was  rather  pleased 
with  that  idea,  and  thought  she  would  write  and  sug- 
gest it  to  him.  She  was  always  on  the  lookout  for 
little  opportunities  of  scoring  off  Norman  now. 

But  Norman  redeemed  his  character  altogether  for 
the  time  being  by  writing  to  propose  himself  for  Christ- 
mas at  the  Hall.  Preparations  went  on  with  more 
gaiety  then.  With  Norman  there,  this  Christmas 
wouldn't  be  so  different  from  others,  after  all. 

In  the  week  before  Christmas,  Colonel  Eldridge  went 
up  to  London,  for  the  first  time  for  many  months,  and 
while  he  was  there  telegraphed  home  that  General  and 
Mrs.  Wilton  were  coming  down  with  him  for  the  week- 
end. This,  too,  was  like  old  times.  It  was  some  time 
since  the  house  had  been  managed  in  such  a  way  as  to 
involve  no  special  preparation  for  guests  of  this  kind, 
but  these  were  old  friends  who  had  been  at  Hayslope 
before,  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  get  ready  for  them, 
though  it  was  somewhat  of  a  surprise  that  they  should 
be  asked.  "  But  I  think  I  know  why,"  Mrs.  Eldridge 
said  to  Pam,  "  and  I  don't  know  whether  to  be  glad  or 
sorry.  General  Wilton  sold  his  place  in  Ireland  not 
long  ago,  and  they  only  have  a  London  house  now. 
Perhaps  he  is  thinking  of  taking  this." 

So  it  proved.     Colonel  Eldridge  told  Pamela  about  it 


353         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

himself,  after  they  had  gone.  "  They  are  going  to  the 
South  of  France  after  Christmas,"  he  said,  "  and  don't 
want  to  make  any  plans  till  they  come  back  in  the 
spring.  But  I  think  he'll  take  it.  I'd  rather  have  him 
here  than  anybody,  if  I've  got  to  let  the  place.  Shall 
you  mind  very  much,  do  you  think,  Pam?  " 

"  Dear  old  Daddy,"  said  Pam,  slipping  her  hand 
under  his  arm — they  were  walking  together — "  I  shall 
only  mind  because  it's  so  beastly  for  you.  But  it  will 
be  a  weight  off  you,  won't  it,  not  to  have  to  keep  it  all 
up?" 

"  Yes.  I  shan't  mind  as  much  as  I  thought  I  should, 
because  of  that.  If  you've  got  something  that  you 
can't  keep  going,  it  hardly  seems  to  belong  to  you.  I 
shall  be  better  away  from  Hayslope  now,  and  we'll  find 
something  somewhere  that  we  shall  like.  We  shan't 
have  to  clear  out  for  some  months,  anyhow.  We'll  en- 
joy it  as  much  as  we  can  in  the  meantime." 

"  Does  Uncle  William  know  you  are  going  to  let  the 
house  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  he  said  shortly,  but  addled  after  a  time : 
"  It's  no  good  thinking  of  that,  you  know.  We've  got 
to  stand  on  our  own  feet." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  she  said,  but  thought  all  the 
time  that  Uncle  William  might  stop  the  letting  of  the 
house,  if  he  were  so  minded.  And  surely,  he  must  be 
so  minded!  He  didn't  seem  to  care  much  about  Hay- 
slope  himself  now,  leaving  his  own  house  there  empty 
for  all  these  months ;  but  he  couldn't  want  to  see  them 
leave  it  too.  She  wondered  what  Norman  would  say 
when  he  heard  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

TWO  YOUNG  MEN 

COLONEL  ELDEIDGE  was  sitting  in  his  room  over  the 
fire,  which  was  unusual  with  him  in  the  middle  of  the 
morning.  But  the  weather  was  atrocious,  and  he  had 
the  beginnings  of  a  cold  on  him,  which  disinclined  him 
for  activity  either  physical  or  mental.  The  door 
opened,  and  Fred  Comfrey  was  announced.  He  was  a 
little  surprised  to  see  him,  for  though  he  had  fre- 
quented the  Hall  when  at  Hayslope  he  had  not  come 
straight  to  him;  and  this  was  his  first  appearance  in 
the  Christmas  holidays.  But  his  visit  was  not  unwel- 
come. Colonel  Eldridge  was  not  used  to  sitting  idle, 
and  a  little  chat  would  be  agreeable  to  him. 

"  Well,  and  how's  the  world  using  you  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  hope  you've  been  making  a  success  of  it." 

It  seemed  that  Fred  had  been  making  a  considerable 
success  of  it.  He  had  been  given  a  partnership,  which 
he  had  not  expected  for  a  year  at  least,  and  his  firm 
had  just  as  much  business  as  they  could  tackle.  *'  My 
job  is  to  organize  ourselves  for  taking  on  more  still,"  he 
said,  "  and  it's  taking  me  all  my  time.  I  hardly 
thought  I  should  be  able  to  get  down  here  for  more 
than  just  Christmas  Day.  But  I  said  I  must  have 
three  or  four  days  off.  Fortunately  I'm  in  a  position 
to  do  what  I  please  now.  I  couldn't  have  insisted  three 
months  ago." 

353 


354         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  Oh,  well,  it's  an  advantage  to  be  your  own  master. 
Very  few  of  us  are.  There's  generally  something  to 
prevent  us  doing  what  we  like.  I  hope  it  means  a  good 
income  to  you.  It  seems  to  me  you  must  be  in  business 
of  some  sort  nowadays  to  make  enough  to  live  on." 

Fred  enlarged  upon  what  it  meant  to  him  in  the  way 
of  income — a  quite  substantial  one  in  the  present,  and 
the  certainty  of  a  big  one  in  the  future.  He  went  into 
more  detail  than  seemed  necessary,  and  at  considerable 
length.  Colonel  Eldridge  said :  "  Well,  I  like  to  hear 
of  a  young  man  making  good.  You  seem  to  be  well  up 
on  the  ladder  already,  and  you're  what? — twenty- 
eight?  You  were  just  a  year  older  than  Hugo,  weren't 
you?  You'll  have  to  think  of  getting  married  and 
settling  down  soon." 

Fred's  colour  deepened,  and  he  gave  a  little  catch  of 
the  breath,  but  said  in  a  fairly  steady  voice :  "  That's 
what  I've  come  to  see  you  about.  I  want  your  permis- 
sion to  ask  Pamela." 

Colonel  Eldridge  sat  absolutely  still,  and  his  face 
showed  nothing.  But  his  voice  did,  when  he  said,  after 
a  pause :  "  That's  an  entirely  new  idea  to  me.  Have 
you  any  reason  to  suppose  that  Pamela  would — would 
be  prepared  for  such  a  declaration?  " 

The  ice  was  broken,  and  Fred  spoke  more  easily, 
but  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire.  "  I've  never  tried 
to  make  love  to  her,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't  think  I  had  a 
right  to.  I've  hoped  that  I  should  be  in  a  position  to 
come  to  you  like  this  some  day,  but  I  didn't  think  the 
time  would  come  so  soon.  I  should  have  to  make  my 
own  way  with  her,  and  I  shouldn't  expect  to  do  it  at 


TWO  YOUNG  MEN  355 

once.  But  I  thought  I  ought  to  satisfy  you  first  that 
I  shall  be  in  a  position  to  give  her  what  you  would  have 
a  right  to  expect  for  her." 

Colonel  Eldridge's  eyes  had  rested  on  him  during 
the  progress  of  this  speech.  He  saw  before  him  a 
young  man  with  a  face  of  some  power,  but  little  or  no 
refinement;  with  a  strong-growing  crest  of  thick  dark 
hair;  with  a  sturdy  frame  in  clothes  that  contrasted 
somewhat  with  his  own  old  but  well-cut  suit  of  tweeds, 
neatly-laced  thick-soled  boots,  and  neatly-adjusted  col- 
lar and  tie.  The  hands  that  lay  on  his  knee,  or 
grasped  the  arm  of  his  chair,  were  broad  and  short- 
fingered,  and  their  nails  were  not  quite  clean. 

"You  don't  think,  then,  that  what  I've  a  right  to 
expect  for  my  daughter  goes  beyond  an  income  large 
enough  to  support  her  ?  " 

Fred  stirred  uncomfortably.  He  must  have  felt  the 
latent  hostility.  But  his  voice  did  not  change.  "  I 
don't  think  that,"  he  said.  **  I  only  meant  that  you'd 
have  a  right  to  expect  that  first  of  all.  I  suppose  I 
couldn't  expect  you — never  have  expected  you — to  wel- 
come the  idea,  exactly.  I  didn't  begin  life  with  the 
same  advantages  as  you  might  expect  from  anyone  who 
wanted  to  marry  your  daughter;  but  I've  made  good 
already,  as  you've  said,  and  if  I  may  say  so  without 
boasting,  I'm  going  farther  than  most  men.  I'm  de- 
termined to;  and  if  I  could  look  forward  to — I  mean 
I  should  have  an  added  incentive,  and  I  don't  think 
there's  much  I  couldn't  do  in  the  world.  In  ten  years' 
time,  or  less,  I  don't  think  you'd  have  reason  to  be 
ashamed  of  me,  as  a  son-in-law." 


356        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

"  Oh,  ashamed !  There's  no  need  to  talk  like  that. 
And  one  can't  take  up  the  position  that  fathers  used 
to  take  up  over  their  daughters'  marriages.  I  don't 
know  that  you're  not  right,  and  the  only  thing  one  is 
entitled  to  stipulate  for  nowadays  is  an  assured  and 
sufficient  income.  Even  that  seems  to  have  been  con- 
sidered unreasonable  in  lots  of  the  marriages  one  has 
seen  take  place  during  the  war." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  I've  waited  until  I  could  assure 
you  of  a  sufficient  income,  and  I've  come  to  you  first,  as 
I  suppose  I  shouldn't  have  done  if  I  hadn't  recognized 
that  I  was  aiming  higher  than  what  might  be  consid- 
ered my  deserts." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  that  you  want  of  me  exactly  ? 
I've  no  reason  to  be  offended  at  your  coming  to  me,  you 
know.  I've  known  you  for  most  of  your  life,  and 
you've  been  welcomed  into  my  family.  I  treated  you 
as  a  friend,  myself,  only  the  other  day." 

**  Oh,  that  was  nothing,"  said  Fred.  "  I  was  only  too 
glad  to  be  able  to  be  of  use  to  yeu.  I  should  have  been 
anyhow." 

Colonel  Eldridge  winced  a  little.  "  I'll  say  quite 
plainly,"  he  said,  in  a  slightly  harder  voice,  "  that, 
from  my  own  point  of  view,  I  should  be  disappointed  if 
my  daughter  didn't  make  what  would  be  called  a  better 
marriage ;  but  I  say  it  without  meaning  any  offence  to 
you.  If  she  chose  to  accept  you,  I  shouldn't — I 
shouldn't  refuse  my  permission,  though  I  think — yes,  I 
think  I  should  stipulate  for  a  certain  time  to  elapse. 
Will  that  satisfy  you?" 

Perhaps  it  was  rather  more  than  Fred  had  expected, 


TWO  YOUNG  MEN  357 

though  it  was  not  precisely  encouraging.  Colonel  Eld- 
ridge  seemed  a  good  deal  farther  from  him  than  on  the 
last  occasion  he  had  talked  to  him  in  this  room.  "  I 
want  my  chance  with  her,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  You  mustn't 
go  to  her,  you  know,  saying  that  I'm  in  favour  of  your 
— your  suit,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it.  How  far 
have  you  got  with  her?  I  say  again  that  this  is  a 
complete  surprise  to  me,  and  I  shouldn't  have  thought 
that  she  could  have  given  you  any  encouragement  to 
go  upon." 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  has.  One  has  one's  own 
private  hopes.  We  have  been  friends;  I  think  I  can 
say  as  much  as  that.  I  was  a  friend  of  Hugo's ;  she's 
been  a  sort  of  inspiration  to  me  all  my  life.  Espe- 
cially lately,  it  has  made  a  different  man  of  me  to 
think  of  her.  I've  been  a  rough  sort  of  fellow — had  to 
be,  in  some  ways,  in  the  fight  I've  had  to  put  up.  I'm 
not  good  enough  for  her;  of  course  I'm  not.  But 
who  is  ?  " 

Colonel  Eldridge's  face  had  grown  a  little  softer. 
"  You  talk  of  her  in  the  right  sort  of  way,"  he  said. 
"  Well,  I  must  leave  it  to  her.  If  she  says  yes,  I  shan't 
say  no." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Fred  gratefully.  "  I'm  glad  I 
came  to  you  first  of  all.  It  seemed  the  right  thing  to 
do,  though  it  wasn't  very  easy." 

He  laughed  awkwardly,  and,  also  rather  awkwardly, 
got  himself  out  of  the  room.  When  he  had  left  it  Col- 
onel Eldridge  walked  up  and  down,  as  his  habit  was 
when  he  was  disturbed  in  his  mind.  He  was  very  dis- 


358        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

turbed  now,  as  the  frown  on  his  face  and  his  impatient 
actions  testified.  Presently  he  made  as  if  to  go  out, 
but  turned  again  irresolutely,  and  then  rang  the  bell. 
He  asked  the  maid  who  answered  it  whether  Mr.  Com- 
frey  was  still  in  the  house.  Yes,  he  was  in  the  school- 
room, with  the  young  ladies.  His  reception  of  that 
piece  of  news  probably  gave  the  maid  material  for  talk 
afterwards,  though  he  was  not  aware  of  having  shown 
any  feeling.  Then  he  went  to  the  morning-room  to 
find  his  wife. 

She  was  alone  there,  and  he  told  her  of  what  had 
happened.  She  laughed,  unconcernedly.  "  With  a 
pushing  young  man  of  that  sort,"  she  said,  "  I  thought 
it  would  com6  to  a  proposal  sooner  or  later.  But  I 
didn't  think  he  would  be  so  foolish  as  to  go  to  you 
first." 

He  didn't  understand  this.  "  Why  foolish  ?  "  he 
asked,  with  some  impatience.  "  Surely  you  haven't 
seen  this  coming  and  done  nothing  to  stop  it?  ': 

"  What  was  there  to  stop  ?  We  couldn't  not  have  him 
in  the  house  because  he  was  likely  to  fall  in  love  with 
Pamela.  Now  we  needn't  have  him  more  than  we  want 
to." 

"What  do  you  mean?  I  said  I  shouldn't  refuse,  if 
Pamela  wanted  him.  He  wouldn't  be  my  choice,  or 
yours ;  but  if  she  .  .  .  ." 

"  If  Pamela  wanted  him !  My  dear !  Wait  till  he's 
gone — I  shan't  ask  him  to  stay  to  lunch — and  ask 
Pamela  if  she  wants  him." 

Pamela  came  into  the  room  at  that  moment.  Colonel 
Eldridge  bent  his  brows  upon  her.  He  couldn't  quite 


TWO  YOUNG  MEN  359 

get  it  out  of  his  head  that  she  must  have  given  encour- 
agement. 

"  Where  is  Fred?  "  asked  Mrs.  Eldridge. 

"  In  the  schoolroom,"  said  Pamela,  and  went  to  the 
bookcase,  which  she  opened. 

"  He  has  just  been  with  father,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge; 
but  Colonel  Eldridge  stopped  her.  "  I  don't  think  that 
anything  ought  to  be  said,"  he  began. 

Mrs.  Eldridge  laughed.  "  You  didn't  promise  to  say 
nothing,  I  suppose,"  she  said. 

«No;  but—" 

"  He  came  to  father,  Pam,  to  ask  if  he  had  any  ob- 
jection to  his  marrying  you,  supposing  you  had  no 
objection." 

Pamela  blushed  deeply,  but  after  a  glance  at  her 
father  said  calmly :  "  I  hope  you  told  him  that  you  had, 
Daddy." 

Colonel  Eldridge,  standing  in  front  of  the  fire, 
straightened  himself,  and  smiled.  "  I  told  him  it  wasn't 
the  sort  of  marriage  I  expected  for  you,"  he  said,  "  but 
it  was  for  you  to  decide  and  not  me.  I  say,  I  didn't 
mean  to  discuss  it  like  this,  ten  minutes  afterwards, 
with  him  actually  in  the  house." 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  wait  until  he  has  gone," 
said  Mrs.  Eldridge.  "  Wece  you  going  back  to  the 
schoolroom,  Pam  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  wasn't,"  said  Pam ;  "  but  I  can,  if  you 
like." 

"  There ! "  said  Mrs.  Eldridge.  Now  I  think  you  can 
go  back  to  jour  room,  dear,  and  wait  a  little,  without 
too  much  anxiety." 


360         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Later  on  there  was  another  short  confabulation,  the 
result  of  which  was  that  Colonel  Eldridge  wrote  a  note 
to  Fred  to  say  that  he  had  talked  to  his  daughter,  who 
had  told  him  that  it  was  quite  impossible  that  she  should 
ever  come  to  look  upon  him  in  the  way  he  desired.  They 
would  be  pleased  to  see  him  again,  on  the  terms  on  which 
he  had  come  to  the  Hall  before,  but  it  would  perhaps 
be  as  well  to  let  a  little  time  elapse.  After  which  he 
returned  to  his  easy  chair  in  front  of  the  fire,  rather 
inclined  to  be  puzzled  at  the  suddenness  of  this  new 
episode,  and  the  celerity  with  which  it  had  been  brought 
to  an  end.  What  Fred  thought  about  it  was  not  made 
clear,  for  he  did  not  answer  the  note,  and  was  not  in 
church  on  Christmas  morning,  though  he  was  known 
to  be  still  at  the  Vicarage. 

All  this  passed  on  Tuesday,  and  on  Wednesday, 
which  was  Christmas  Eve,  Norman  came. 

Norman  was  in  bright  spirits,  and  the  whole  house 
responded  to  them,  although  Colonel  Eldridge,  still 
under  the  influence  of  his  cold,  kept  mostly  to  his 
room.  He  was  anxious,  however,  not  to  give  Norman 
reason  to  think  that  he  was  keeping  out  of  his  way,  and 
asked  him  in  for  a  talk  during  the  afternoon,  when  he 
told  him  how  glad  he  was  that  he  had  come,  and  in  such 
a  way  as  to  give  the  impression  that  he  was  thanking 
him  for  coming. 

"  Well,  I  simply  had  to,  Uncle  Edmund,"  said  Nor- 
man. "  I  couldn't  have  stuck  it  anywhere  else,  not 
even  at  home.  They've  got  rather  a  ponderous  lot  up 
there  this  time,  and  they  can  do  without  me  all  right, 
though  I  said  I'd  go  back  there  the  day  after  Christ- 


TWO  YOUNG  MEN  361 

mas.  I  think  mother  would  have  liked  to  come  too, 
but  of  course  she's  got  to  play  hostess  to  all  the  mag- 
nates. You  wouldn't  have  thought  you  could  have  got 
so  many  magnates  away  from  their  own  turkeys  at 
Christmas  time,  but  the  shoot  is  really  awfully  good. 
We  had  a  great  day  yesterday." 

He  gave  corroborative  detail,  and  they  were  soon  in 
the  midst  of  a  talk  on  sport,  in  which  Colonel  Eldridge 
took  his  part  almost  with  enthusiasm.  Nothing  was 
said  about  the  estrangement,  but  what  was  perfectly 
clear  was  that  neither  Lady  Eldridge  nor  Norman  con- 
sidered it  as  having  altered  anything  of  their  affection 
for  the  family  at  the  Hall.  No  change,  however, 
seemed  to  be  indicated  in  the  attitude  of  Lord  Eldridge. 
Norman  did  not  eschew  mention  of  him,  when  his  name 
would  naturally  have  come  into  the  conversation,  but 
there  was  nothing  to  show  that  he  had  been  sent  on  an 
errand  of  reconciliation. 

Norman  hastened  to  assure  Pamela,  in  answer  to  in- 
quiries, that  his  joyous  state  of  mind  was  not  due  to 
his  having  at  last  found  the  right  girl  in  the  Irish 
country  house.  "  No,"  he  said.  "  There  were  some 
bright  spirits  among  them,  but  not  one  that  I  could 
have  gone  through  life  with.  I  am  far  more  exacting 
than  I  was.  I  told  you  about  Donna  Clara,  didn't  I?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  At  least  I  don't  remember  her 
name  for  the  moment.  Could  you  afford  to  give  me  a 
card  index  for  a  Christmas  present?  I  was  reading  an 
advertisement  the  other  day,  and  I  think  it  is  just  the 
thing  I  want,  to  be  able  to  refer  to  any  of  them  at  a 
moment's  notice." 


362 

Norman  laughed  freely.  "  That's  jolly  good,  Pam," 
he  said.  "  Jolly  good.  If  I  could  only  find  some- 
body who  could  say  that  sort  of  thing.  Of  course 
she'd  have  to  be  as  pretty  as  you  too,  and  you  don't 
find  'em  like  that  in  every  basket  of  peaches.  Mar- 
garet came  nearest  to  you,  but — " 

"What  has  become  of  Margaret?  I  did  think  some- 
thing might  happen  there,  when  it  had  gone  on  for  a 
fortnight.  Or  was  it  only  ten  days  ?  " 

"  That's  not  quite  so  good,  Pam.  I  saw  Margaret 
last  week.  We  mejt  at  a  play,  and  had  a  word  to- 
gether between  the  acts.  Rather  moving,  it  was.  I 
think  we  both  felt  that  a  chapter  in  our  long-past 
lives,  though  closed,  would  always  remain  as  a  tender 
and  delicate  memory.  In  years  to  come,  when  she's 
a  duchess  on  her  own,  and  I'm  a  minor  middle-aged  lord, 
with  a  chin-beard  and  a  tummy,  we  shall  get  rather 
sentimental  with  one  another.  Perhaps  we  shall  fix  up 
a  match  between  my  Clarence  and  her  Ermyntrude. 
But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  Donna  Clara.  I  call 
her  that  because  her  father  is  a  Don  of  Clare,  not  be- 
cause she's  Spanish  or  Portugese,  because  she  isn't. 
She's  a  peach;  I  will  say  that  for  her;  and  dances  a 
treat.  But  I'm  no  longer  thinking  of  migrating  to 
Clare  College  on  her  account." 

"Why  not?  Is  she  quite  brainless?  You  don't 
seem  to  mind  them  having  scarcely  any,  but  I  suppose 
it  would  be  an  objection  if  she  hadn't  got  beyond 
words  of  one  syllable." 

"  Don't  try  too  hard,  Pam.  Something  good  will 
slip  out  if  you  wait  for  it.  So  far  from  being  brain- 


TWO  YOUNG  MEN  363 

less,  Donna  Clara —  But  why  pursue  these  futile  re- 
criminations? She's  the  last.  I  shan't  go  about  look- 
ing for  it  any  more.  Perhaps  I  shall  live  and  die  a 
bachelor.  I  recognized  all  the  symptoms  with  Donna 
Clara.  I  was  taken  with  her.  I  did  lean  out  of  my 
window  and  think  about  her  when  I  got  home;  only  it 
was  so  damn  cold  that  I  shut  it  again  directly.  I  did 
take  all  the  trouble  in  the  world  to  see  her  again.  But 
when  I  did,  that  was  the  end  of  it.  I  could  have  gone 
on,  but  I  didn't.  I  saw  that  I  should  be  suffering  from 
an  agreeable  sort  of  fever  for  a  few  weeks,  and  then  I 
should  recover,  and  have  it  all  to  go  through  again. 
Pam  dear,  it  isn't  good  enough." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  sorry  you've  come  to  that  conclu- 
sion," said  Pam.  "  It  came  home  to  me  when  the  affair 
with  Margaret  fizzled  out.  I  think  the  whole  business 
is  rather  tiresome.  You've  got  lots  of  other  things  to 
do.  I  suppose  a  man  can  go  pottering  on  like  that, 
playing  with  his  emotions.  A  girl  would  be  rather  a 
beast  if  she  did  it.  But  even  in  a  man  I  think  it's 
spoiling  something  or  other.  I  think  you're  quite  right 
to  give  it  up,  if  you  really  mean  to." 

Norman  showed  himself  a  trifle  offended  over  this. 
"  I  don't  know  that  you  need  take  it  as  solemnly  as  all 
that,"  he  said.  "  We've  had  larks  together  about  it, 
but  I  can  Tceep  it  to  myself,  if  you'd  rather." 

Pam's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  which  surprised  her  as 
much  as  they  did  Norman  when  he  saw  them.  "  Oh, 
don't  let's  quarrel,  even  in  fun,"  she  said.  "  It's  all 
unhappy  enough  without  that."  Then  she  broke  down 
and  cried,  but  dried  her  eyes  immediately,  angry  with 


364        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

herself.  "  I've  had  a  horrid  thing  happen  to  me,"  she 
said.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you  about  it,  but  I 
always  have  told  you  everything,  almost." 

He  took  her  hand.  "  Dear  little  Pam,"  he  said.  "  I 
know  everything  is  perfectly  beastly  for  you  now.  I 
can't  do  anything  about  it  yet,  but  you  know  I  hate  it 
as  much  as  you  do.  I've  really  come  here  because  of 
that — at  least,  you  know  I  should  hate  not  being  with 
you  at  Christmas.  I  determined  I'd  be  as  merry  and 
bright  as  possible,  but  I  haven't  always  felt  like  it 
when  I've  thought  about  you.  If  you  want  to  talk  over 
things  quietly  I'm  quite  ready." 

She  gave  his  hand  a  squeeze,  and  withdrew  hers. 
"  It  isn't  about  leaving  here,"  she  said.  "  I  mind  that 
for  poor  old  Daddy's  sake,  and  it's  all  part  of  the  gen- 
eral horridness  which  makes  everything  different.  I 
suppose  I  shouldn't  mind  about  this  if  it  weren't  for 
being  unhappy  about  other  things." 

Then  she  told  him  about  Fred.  "  I  suppose  I  did 
give  him  some  encouragement,"  she  said,  "  though  of 
course  I  never  meant  to."  She  smiled  ruefully. 
"  Perhaps  it  was  that  afternoon  at  Pershore  Castle 
that  brought  it  on  me.  I  was  annoyed  with  you  rather, 
and  did  it  to  make  you  annoyed  with  me,  which  you 
were." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  quite  understood  that,"  he  said.  "  But 
why  do  you  let  it  worry  you,  Pam  dear?  You've  got 
rid  of  the  fellow — pretty  easily  too.  You  might  have 
had  to  get  rid  of  him  yourself." 

"  I  know.  I'm  glad  I  was  saved  that.  I  don't  know 
why  I  feel  it  as  I  do,  though  I've  tried  to  find  out.  I 


TWO  YOUNG  MEN  365 

can't  really  blame  Fred.  Why  should  I  blame  him  for 
wanting  me?  And  he  didn't  even  bother  me.  He  went 
to  father." 

"  And  I  expect  he  wishes  he  hadn't  now.  I  can  tell 
you  why  you  feel  it,  without  looking  up  any  words  in  a 
dictionary.  He's  so  far  beneath  you  in  every  way  that 
it's  like  a  degradation  to  have  him  even  thinking  about 
you  in  that  way.  As  for  bringing  it  on — I  don't  think 
you  could  have  helped  it — a  pushing  common  bounder 
like  that,  who  wouldn't  understand  your  just  being 
friendly  with  him.  It  would  have  had  to  come,  sooner 
or  later." 

"  Perhaps  you're  right,  though  I  don't  feel  it  quite 
like  that.  I  think  I've  got  myself  to  blame  somewhere. 
Still,  I'm  well  out  of  it,  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  get  over 
the  horrid  feeling  in  time.  I  hope  I  shan't  have  to  see 
him  again — not  for  a  long  time." 

"  Of  course  you'll  get  over  it ;  and  you  needn't  see 
him  any  more,  ever — in  any  way  that  will  matter  to 
you.  I  wish  I  could  say  the  same  for  myself ;  but  the 
odd  thing  is  that  he's  got  himself  in  with  the  governor 
—in  business.  He  says  he's  good  at  it,  and  a  nice 
enough  fellow,  who  did  well  in  the  war.  I'm  all  for 
treating  fellows  well  who  did  well  in  the  war,  but  you 
do  get  a  bit  fed  up  with  some  of  them,  whom  you'd 
never  have  known  but  for  the  old  war.  I  don't  sup- 
pose Mr.  Comfrey  would  have  dared  to  think  about  you, 
before  the  war.  Oh,  we've  got  a  lot  up  against  the 
Kaiser.  Let's  forget  about  him,  Pam,  and  forget  all 
about  the  other  bothers,  and  have  a  jolly  Christmas." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

AND  THE  THIRD 

ON  the  afternoon  of  Christmas  Day  Norman  went  out  to 
take  the  air.  There  was  a  cold  drizzle  of  rain,  and 
nobody  was  inclined  to  accompany  him.  He  was  not 
sorry  to  be  alone,  for  he  had  a  good  deal  to  think 
about,  and  his  thoughts  flowed  freely  as  he  strode  along, 
buttoned  up  in  his  rain  coat  and  rather  enjoying  the 
bleak  inclemency  of  the  weather,  so  unlike  that  of  the 
traditional  Christmas.  But  the  Christmas  atmos- 
phere was  abundantly  alive  at  the  Hall,  and  he  carried 
it  with  him  as  he  tramped  through  the  mud. 

He  came  back  as  dusk  was  falling  through  the  wood 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  park,  and  some  association  of 
place  brought  sharply  back  to  his  memory  the  fight  he 
had  had  with  Fred  Comfrey  down  here,  years  before. 
He  could  see  Fred  and  Hugo  sitting  on  the  log  as  he 
went  towards  them  across  the  park,  and  there  came  to 
him  a  return  of  the  feelings  with  which  he  had  ap- 
proached them.  He  came  out  of  the  wood  at  the  place 
where  the  fallen  log  had  been.  It  had  gone  now,  but 
there  was  Fred,  his  old-time  enemy,  standing  under  a 
tree,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  Hall,  the  windows  of 
which  were  showing  their  welcoming  lights  that  no 
longer  welcomed  him. 

He  started  in  surprised  affront,  as  Norman  oame 
upon  him.  It  was  an  awkward  meeting,  for  his  reason 

3G6 


AND  THE  THIRD  367 

for  being  there  was  apparent,  and  he  could  not  help 
knowing  that  it  was  so  to  Norman.  He  hunched  his 
shoulders  and  turned  away  in  offence,  without  a  greet- 
ing. Norman,  who  had  been  thinking  of  him  with 
cherished  aversion,  had  an  impulse  of  pity  towards 
him,  and  obeyed  the  impulse  instantly,  as  his  custom 
was.  "  Merry  Christmas  !  "  he  said.  "  I  heard  you 
were  down  here." 

It  was  the  first  thing  that  came  into  his  head  to  say, 
and  was  only  meant  as  a  disclaimer  of  enmity.  But 
Fred  took  it  has  a  jeer,  and  turned  on  him,  his  face 
flaming  with  antagonism.  "  I  dare  say  you  did,"  he 
said.  "  Damn  you !  I  say  something  in  confidence, 
and  it's  told  to  everybody  at  once;  and  I'm  kicked  out 
because  of  it.  A  merry  Christmas !  "  There  followed 
an  oath  directed  against  Norman,  and  he  turned  his 
back  on  him  again. 

Norman's  impulsion  of  pity  still  held  him.  He  had 
disliked  Fred,  in  their  boyhood,  but  before  their  final 
quarrel  there  had  been  times  in  which  they  had  been 
companions,  without  hostility  between  them.  That 
old  contact  was  present  to  his  mind;  and  Fred  was 
down  now ;  he  couldn't  triumph  over  him.  "  I  didn't 
mean  any  offence,"  he  said.  "  I  do  know  what  hap- 
pened, but  there's  no  offence  in  that  either." 

Fred  turned  on  him  again.  "  I'm  not  good  enough 
for  her,"  he  said.  "  No  offence  in  showing  me  that  in 
the  beastliest  sort  of  way,  I  suppose !  I  do  the 
straight  thing,  and  it's  immediately  used  as  a  weapon 
against  me.  Yet  Eldridge  was  ready  enough  to  come 
to  me  for  help  in  his  blasted  money  difficulties.  If  he 


368         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

doesn't  mind  telling  everybody  my  affairs  I  don't  mind 
telling  his." 

Again  he  turned  away,  leaving  Norman  at  a  loss. 
He  took  a  few  steps,  and  threw  over  his  shoulder: 
"  You  make  her  think  she's  everything  to  you,  and  bo- 
have  as  if  she  was  nothing.  I'd  have  given  her  more 
than  you  ever  will."  Then  he  went  away,  leaving 
Norman  with  something  more  to  think  about,  as  he 
walked  slowly  back  across  the  park  in  the  chilly  dusk 
to  where  the  warmth  and  light  of  the  house  was  awaiting 
him. 

The  next  day  he  went  away,  and  the  Hall  settled  down 
again  to  the  quiet  life  that  had  been  brightened  by  his 
coming. 

The  weather  cleared  after  Christmas,  and  on  the 
first  day  on  which  the  roads  were  dry  enough  Lord 
Crowborough  came  tricycling  over  to  Hayslope  Hall, 
and,  in  the  same  state  of  heat  as  before  and  with  the 
same  means  of  allaying  it  by  his  side,  sat  talking  to 
his  old  friend. 

He  had  heard  of  the  decision  to  let  the  Hall,  and 
was  full  of  sympathy.  At  the  same  time,  he  couldn't 
quite  understand  it.  What  did  William  say  about  it? 
Surely — ! 

Colonel  Eldridge  cut  him  short.  "  There's  no  en- 
mity now  between  me  and  William,"  he  said.  "  We've 
practically  agreed  to  go  our  separate  ways,  though 
that  has  never  been  put  into  words.  William  doesn't 
come  into  this,  and  wouldn't  have  come  into  it  if  we 
had  never  fallen  out.  All  he  could  have  done  would 
have  been  to  subsidize  me  here,  and  I  dare  say  he  would 


AND  THE  THIRD  969 

have  been  quite  ready  to  do  it.  But  of  course  I  couldn't 
have  accepted  that  in  any  case.'* 

"  No.  I  can  see  that,  if  you  put  it  in  that  way.  But 
there  ought  to  be  a  way  out,  Edmund.  He  will  suc- 
ceed you  here,  and  I  am  pretty  certain  that  if  you  both 
wanted  to  you  could  arrange  things." 

"  Not  in  any  way  that  wouldn't  come  round  in  the 
long  run  to  my  staying  here  as  William's  pensioner. 
The  property  could  be  resettled  by  him  and  me  and 
Norman  agreeing;  but  there's  nothing  in  it  for  me  be- 
yond my  life  interest  and  my  wife's  jointure.  No;  I 
am  ready  to  go  now,  for  some  years  at  least.  It's  pos- 
sible that  after  a  time,  when  I've  cleared  off  certain 
encumbrances  on  my  income,  I  might  be  able  to  come 
back.  But  it  isn't  time  to  think  of  that  yet.  I  shan't 
be  sorry  to  go,  if  I  can  find  something  suitable  to  go  to. 
This  place  has  become  a  burden,  and  all  the  pleasure 
of  living  in  it  has  departed.  The  nuisance  is  that 
there's  no  house  here  for  me  to  go  to.  The  Grange  is 
out  of  the  question,  and  there's  no  other  house  that 
would  do  for  us  without  a  lot  of  money  spent  upon  it. 
I  haven't  got  any  money  for  such  purposes." 

"  It  seems  hard  lines  that  William  should  have  spoilt 
the  only  house  in  the  place  that  would  suit  you ;  and  now 
he  doesn't  even  live  in  it  himself." 

"  Oh,  well ;  that's  done,  and  there's  no  good  dwelling 
on  it.  Things  have  gone  his  way  and  they  haven't 
gone  mine.  They  haven't  been  going  the  way  of  us 
landowners  for  a  long  time,  and  the  war  has  about 
finished  us.  I  sometimes  wish  I'd  been  born  a  genera- 
tion earlier.  My  father  used  to  grumble  sometimes; 


370         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

but  look  at  the  difference  between  those  times  and  these. 
Oh,  no ;  it's  time  I  cleared  out.  There's  no  room  in  the 
world  that's  coming  for  people  like  me." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  fellow,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that. 
There's  always  room  in  the  world  for  people  like  you. 
We  shouldn't  have  won  the  war  without  'em,  for  one 
thing." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  have  done  us  much  good  win- 
ning the  war.  Nothing's  the  same  as  it  was,  and  it 
will  get  worse.  However,  we  needn't  talk  about  that. 
We  shall  have  to  stick  it  out,  whatever's  in  store  for  us. 
I  don't  suppose  I've  got  more  to  grumble  about  than 
most.  If  I  can  let  this  house  well,  as  I  think  I  can, 
and  find  another  somewhere,  we  shall  be  all  right.  I 
suppose  the  girls  will  marry  in  time.  Cynthia  and  I 
will  have  enough,  for  as  long  as  remains  to  us." 

"I  think  I  might  find  you  a  house,  Edmund.  I've 
been  turning  it  over  in  my  mind  since  I  heard  that  you 
wanted  something  near  here.  Give  me  a  few  days 
longer.  But  I  want  to  know — you  didn't  tell  me. 
What  does  William  say  about  your  leaving  Hay- 
slope?" 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  knows.  I  haven't  told  him.  I 
dare  say  Norman  has  by  this  time." 

"  I  see  Norman  was  here  for  Christmas,  wasn't  he  ? 
He's  a  nice  boy,  that.  I'm  glad  it  shouldn't  have  made 
a  difference  to  him." 

"  So  am  I — very  glad.  Yes ;  he's  a  very  nice  boy. 
He's  like  a  brother  to  my  girls,  and  I'm  glad  they've 
got  him,  now  their  own  brother  is  dead.  He'll  look 
after  them,  if  they  ever  want  looking  after." 


AND  THE  THIRD  371 

"  They're  dear  girls,  all  of  them,  Edmund.  You 
won't  have  them  all  with  you  for  very  long,  I  expect. 
I've  had  a  sort  of  hope  lately  that — I  don't  see  why 
such  old  friends  as  we  are  shouldn't  talk  over  these 
things — I've  a  fancy  that  my  boy  thinks  there's  nobody 
in  the  world  like  your  Pamela.  Well,  my  wife  says 
it's  Pamela;  I  had  a  sort  of  idea  myself  that  it  was 
little  Judith.  It's  one  of  'em,  or  I'll  eat  my  hat. 
Would  that  be  agreeable  to  you,  if  it  came  off  some 
day?" 

Colonel  Eldridge  laughed.  "  It  would  be  very  agree- 
able to  me,"  he  said.  "  I've  had  things  put  to  me  that 
weren't  so  agreeable.  Fathers  don't  seem  to  have 
much  of  a  say  in  these  matters  nowadays.  But,  thank 
goodness,  my  girls  weren't  old  enough  to  run  all  those 
risks  of  war-time.  Yes,  John,  if  that  arrangement 
would  suit  you,  it  would  certainly  suit  me.  I've  been 
wondering,  quite  lately  what  sort  of  marriage  Pamela 
would  make — realizing  that  she  was  old  enough  to  get 
married,  which  I  suppose  doesn't  come  into  a  father's 
head  about  his  eldest  girl  until  it's  put  there." 

"  No ;  or  with  a  son  either.  But  Jim  is  my  only  one, 
and  I  should  like  him  to  marry  early,  and  see  my  grand- 
son growing  up,  if  I'm  spared  so  long.  I  shouldn't 
care  for  my  brother  Alfred's  boys  to  come  into  the 
succession.  However,  that's  a  long  way  ahead  yet. 
Jim's  a  steady  fellow  now,  and  inclined  to  take  his  life 
seriously — more  seriously,  perhaps,  than  we  did  when 
we  were  young  fellows;  but  it's  not  a  bad  thing  either. 
What  I  mean  is  that  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
for  him  to  marry,  and  with  such  a  wife  as  your  Pamela 


372        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

— well,  he'd  be  a  very  lucky  fellow,  and  she'd  get  him 
on  in  the  world.  There's  still  something  to  do  for  a 
man  in  the  position  he'll  have  to  fill,  and  the  right  sort 
of  wife  would  help  him  no  end." 

When  Lord  Crowborough  had  pedalled  himself  away, 
Colonel  Eldridge  went  back  to  his  room,  and  sat  there 
in  front  of  the  fire,  with  pleasanter  thoughts  to  keep 
him  company  than  he  had  had  for  some  time.  The 
episode  with  Fred  Comfrey  had  made  its  mark  upon 
him,  though  it  had  come  and  gone  so  quickly  that  he 
had  suffered  little  distress  because  of  it.  He  could 
hardly  help  thinking  of  himself  as  having  come  down  in 
the  world,  since  he  was  no  longer  able  to  support  the 
modest  dignity  that  had  been  his  as  the  head  of  an 
old-established  family  living  in  the  large  house  in  the 
middle  of  his  acres  in  which  his  fathers  had  lived 
before  him.  Fred  Comfrey's  proposal  had  seemed  to 
mark  that  descent,  for  it  had  not  been  from  among 
.men  such  as  he  that  the  daughters  of  the  house 
had  taken  their  husbands.  Now  this  so  different 
proposal  wiped  out  the  effect  of  that  one.  If  only 
Pamela  .  .  .  ! 

When  he  told  his  wife  about  it,  he  found  that  it  was 
no  new  idea  to  her.  "  I  didn't  want  to  talk  about  it," 
she  said,  "  because  one  is  naturally  careful  about  not 
appearing  to  rush  at  a  marriage  of  that  sort.  There 
will  be  plenty  of  people  to  say  that  we  have  been  an- 
gling for  it — or  that  I  have — if  it  does  happen.  I  do 
think  that  there's  no  doubt  about  Jim.  In  fact,  I 
shouldn't  be  in  the  least  surprised  if  he  hadn't  put  it  to 
Pam  already." 


AND  THE  THIRD 

"  What — do  you  mean  to  say  that  they  have  come 
to  an  understanding?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  not.  If  he  has  asked  her,  she  has  re- 
fused him.  I  don't  know,  because  she  has  said  nothing 
to  me;  but  one  has  a  sort  of  instinct  with  one's  own 
daughters.  Perhaps  it's  more  likely  that  she  won't 
give  him  an  answer  yet.  They  are  as  good  friends  as 
ever.  I  don't  think  he  would  come  here  in  the  way  he 
does  if  she  had  refused  him  definitely." 

This  rather  dashed  him.  "  Crowborough  said  some- 
thing about  Judith,"  he  said.  "  He'd  had  an  idea  that 
she  was  the  attraction ;  but  her  ladyship  seems  to  have 
chased  that  idea  out  of  his  head." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  laughed,  and  said :  "  For  once  I 
agree  with  her.  I  was  inclined  to  think  it  was  Judith 
at  one  time  myself,  though  I'd  hardly  come  to  think  of 
her  as  more  than  a  child.  They  get  on  splendidly  to- 
gether, and  really  I  think  she'd  be  more  suited  to  him 
than  Pam.  However,  there's  no  good  thinking  of  that, 
for  it  is  Pam,  and  there's  no  doubt  about  it.  Darling 
Pam !  I  do  wish  she  would  come  round  to  it.  She  is 
taking  our  present  troubles  hardly,  and  it  would  be 
good  for  her  to  be  lifted  out  of  them.  Perhaps  she 
will,  in  time.  But  there's  no  good  in  pressing  her; 
we  must  just  leave  it." 

"  Oh,  pressing  her !  Good  heavens,  no  !  I  shouldn't 
like  her  to  marry  him  for  the  reasons  that  would  ap- 
peal to  us,  either.  I  believe  in  a  love  match,  for  every- 
body; but  there  ought  to  be  something  behind  it 
too." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  leant  over  his  chair  and  kissed  him  on 


374        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

the  forehead.  "  We've  never  regretted  our  love  match, 
have  we?  "  she  said. 

He  reached  up  and  took  her  hand  in  his.  "  We 
hardly  thought  it  was  going  to  bring  us  to  this  pass 
towards  the  close  of  our  lives,"  he  said.  "  But  it 
won't  part  us,  so  it's  not  so  bad.  Crowborough  said 
he  might  be  able  to  find  a  house  for  us.  There  are 
several  nice  little  places  on  his  property.  If  one  of 
them  fell  vacant,  I  could  carry  on  here  from  it.  Other- 
wise, I  don't  see  anything  for  it  but  to  put  in  an  agent, 
and  only  come  down  now  and  then.  I  think  now  we've 
made  up  our  minds,  the  worst  is  over.  I  wish  Wil- 
liam had  written,  though.  He  couldn't  do  anything 
to  help  us,  perhaps ;  but  I  should  have  thought  it  must 
have  meant  something  to  him — our  having  to  clear  out. 
Norman  must  have  told  him,  and  there  would  have  been 
time  to  hear  from  him  by  now." 

"  If  there's  nothing  he  could  do,"  she  said,  "  per- 
haps it's  as  well  that  he  should  leave  it  alone.  We  don't 
want  the  contrast  between  us  made  plainer  than  it  is." 

With  that  she  left  him.  She  could  not  trust  her- 
self to  talk  with  him  about  his  brother,  against  whom 
her  anger  was  hot  within  her.  She  knew  with  what  a 
weight  the  estrangement  was  lying  upon  him  now ;  that 
the  irritation  he  had  felt  against  William  had  all  dis- 
appeared; and  that  he  was  inclined  to  blame  himself 
for  all  that  had  happened,  to  the  justification  of  the 
man  who  was  pursuing  his  eager  successful  course  with- 
out an  apparent  thought  of  the  troubles  from  which 
he  had  cut  himself  loose.  She  had  hoped  something 
from  William  until  now.  Looking  back  upon  the 


AND  THE  THIRD  375 

whole  course  of  the  quarrel,  she  did  recognize  that  he 
had  made  efforts  to  end  it,  and  shown  here  and  there 
the  generosity  which  had  always  been  a  mark  of  his 
character.  But,  after  all,  his  generosity  had  been  easy 
to  exercise.  They  had  all  lived  in  close  contact  for 
years,  and  he  had  got  as  good  as  he  had  given,  in  the 
affection  which  had  prompted  his  generosity.  Now 
that  had  fallen  into  the  second  place  with  him;  he  was 
in  pursuit  of  associations  other  than  the  ties  of  family, 
and  it  was  to  further  them  that  his  openhandedness 
would  be  used.  What  did  they  matter  to  him  at  Hay- 
slope?  He  had  run  away  from  the  place  in  which  so 
many  of  his  interests  had  been  bound  up,  rather  than 
face  the  awkwardness  of  a  situation  which  he  could 
have  ended  at  any  time  by  a  little  patience  and  consid- 
eration. Even  their  leaving  it  was  nothing  to  him  now. 
Four  days  had  gone  by  since  he  must  have  been  told  of 
it.  He  was  not  away,  for  Norman  had  written  to  Pam 
only  the  day  before,  and  mentioned  him.  It  must  be 
accepted  now  that  he  didn't  care.  It  would  be  as 
well  that  her  husband  should  come  to  recognize  that, 
and  then  he  would  cease  longing  for  what  was  over 
and  done  with,  and  rely  only  upon  those  who  loved  him 
so  dearly  for  his  solace  in  life. 

But  she  couldn't  hasten  the  time.  He  must  be  made 
sadder  yet  before  he  could  put  away  his  sadness,  and 
accept  the  new  conditions. 

She  talked  to  Pamela  that  night.  No  pressure  was 
to  be  put  on  her,  she  had  said.  She  put  all  the  pres- 
sure of  which  she  was  capable,  being  very  careful  to 
^disguise  the  fact  that  she  was  putting  any  pressure 


376        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

at  all.  She  loved  Pamela  more  than  her  other  girls; 
she  was  making  more  and  more  of  a  companion  of  her ; 
she  would  hate  giving  her  up  to  the  best  of  husbands. 
But  to  please  her  own  husband,  to  get  for  him,  some- 
thing that  would  lift  from  him  some  of  the  weight 
under  which  he  was  drooping,  she  would  have  pushed 
her  daughter  into  a  marriage  with  less  prospects  of 
happiness  in  it  than  this  held  out.  She  was  ruthless 
with  her,  while  talking  to  her  with  a  sort  of  cooing 
tenderness  and  sympathy,  and  searching  among  half 
confessions  and  confidences  for  the  point  upon  which 
she  could  concentrate  to  move  her.  Her  father  was 
mentioned  but  rarely.  There  was  no  plea  to  sacrifice 
herself  for  his  sake.  But  it  was  inherent  in  every- 
thing that  she  said  that  submission  on  Pamela's  part 
would  bring  something  to  him  that  nothing  else  could 
in  these  shadowed  days.  She  did  not  place  before  her 
any  of  the  advantages  that  would  accrue  to  her  from  a 
marriage  that  would  bring  her  wealth  and  station.  She 
mentioned  them  only  to  make  light  of  them.  They 
knew,  she  and  Pamela,  that  those  were  not  the  best 
things  in  life,  though  one  was  better  off  with  them  than 
without  them.  What  were  the  best  things?  They 
seemed  to  be  summed  up  in  Horsham,  according  to  her 
opinion,  though  she  did  not  overpraise  him. 

No  disagreement  was  possible  with  anything  that 
she  said.  She  put  herself  apparently  into  complete 
accord  with  Pamela,  and  made  it  difficult  for  her  so 
much  as  to  say  that  she  didn't  love  Horsham ;  for  that 
would  have  been  the  answer  to  an  invitation  that  was 
never  made,  in  so  many  words.  The  respect  and  even 


AND  THE  THIRD  377 

affection  that  Pamela  was  made  to  acknowledge  as 
representing  her  feelings  towards  Horsham  were  taken 
as  the  most  satisfactory  with  which  to  start  upon 
married  life.  That  was  apparently  agreed  on  all 
hands,  and  was  hardly  worth  discussing.  The  ques- 
tion of  "  falling  in  love  "  was  lightly  touched  upon. 
It  sometimes  happened  before  marriage,  sometimes 
afterwards.  The  marriages  that  began  with  youthful 
raptures  didn't  always  turn  out  the  most  satisfactory. 
It  seemed  to  be  indicated  that  there  was  something 
almost  indelicate  in  a  girl's  looking  out  for  those  rap- 
tures ;  she  would  have  no  fear  of  such  a  desire  in  a 
daughter  of  hers. 

They  ended  their  long  talk  under  the  supposition 
that  Pamela  wouldn't  marry  for  years  to  come,  and 
discussed  the  future  hopefully.  It  would  be  splendid 
if  Lord  Crowborough  did  find  them  a  nice  house,  near 
enough  to  Hayslope  for  father  to  be  able  to  look  after 
things  from  there.  They  could  furnish  a  house  of 
three  or  four  sitting-rooms  and  eight  or  ten  bedrooms 
beautifully  from  the  Hall,  and  leave  quite  enough  be- 
hind them.  They  could  have  a  lovely  garden,  and 
there  would  probably  be  enough  land  for  a  little  farm- 
ery, in  which  they  would  all  interest  themselves.  "  I'm 
sure  we  should  be  much  happier  than  we  are  here  now," 
Mrs.  Eldridge  said.  "  I  think  even  father  has  come 
to  see  that,  and  if  he  gets  rid  of  his  worries  we  shall 
have  him  with  us  for  many  years  to  come,  just  as  he 
used  to  be.  He  is  more  cheerful  now  than  he  has  been 
for  a  long  time,  though  he  isn't  well.  I  do  think 
there's  a  brighter  time  coming  for  us  at  last." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    NEW    CHAPTER 

Miss  BALDWIN  came  back  to  Hayslope  after  the  Christ- 
mas holidays  not  without  hopes  of  developments  having 
taken  place  during  her  absence,  which  would  introduce 
the  new  chapter  she  was  longing  for.  Her  return  after 
holidays  was  always  greeted  with  welcoming  chatter 
by  Alice  and  Isabelle,  who  were  of  an  age  when  even 
the  arrival  of  a  governess  to  whom  they  were  not 
greatly  attached  was  something  of  an  excitement.  Miss 
Baldwin  never  seemed  to  take  much  interest  in  the 
news  they  poured  out  to  her,  and  she  asked  very  few 
questions;  but  she  had  gathered  a  good  deal  by  the 
time  her  charges  were  in  bed  and  her  time  was  her  own 
to  think  it  over. 

The  coming  move  was  the  most  important  piece  of 
news.  The  excitement  of  the  children  over  any  change 
was  enough  in  this  instance  at  least  to  balance  their 
regrets  at  leaving  Hayslope.  It  was  not  quite  settled 
yet,  but  it  was  almost  certain  that  they  were  going 
some  time  in  the  spring  to  live  at  that  dear  old  farm- 
house which  you  passed  on  the  road  to  Pershore,  about 
half  a  mile  before  you  came  to  the  Castle.  Miss  Bald- 
win remembered  it  quite  well,  and  the  news  gave  her 
rather  a  shock,  though  the  children  seemed  to  be  de- 
lighted with  the  idea.  It  was  an  old  stone-built  house 
standing  very  near  the  road,  with  its  farmstead  ad- 

378 


THE  NEW  CHAPTER  379 

joining  it — hardly  a  gentleman's  residence,  in  her 
opinion,  and  a  great  come  down  from  Hayslope  Hall. 
But  it  was  the  farm  buildings,  which  would  go  with  it, 
that  made  it  attractive  in  the  eyes  of  Alice  and  Isa- 
belle.  And  they  were  to  have  ponies.  That  would 
have  made  up  for  more  than  they  would  actually  lose 
by  the  move.  Lord  Crowborough  was  going  to  do  a 
good  deal  to  the  house  before  they  went  to  it.  It  was 
bigger  than  it  looked  from  the  outside,  and  there  was 
a  lovely  great  attic  running  the  whole  length  of  the 
house  where  they  would  be  able  to  play. 

So  the  children  were  satisfied,  and  Miss  Baldwin  had 
gathered  from  the  talk  at  supper  that  their  elders 
thought  themselves  fortunate  in  finding  such  a  house 
for  themselves.  There  was  talk  of  panelled  rooms  and 
a  fine  oak  staircase,  and  of  restorations  that  were  to 
be  made  to  bring  it  back  to  the  state  from  which  it 
had  somewhat  fallen.  It  was  a  house  of  the  same  qual- 
ity as  Town  Farm  at  Hayslope.  Colonel  Eldridge's 
chief  regret  seemed  to  be  that  he  could  not  restore 
his  own  house  in  the  same  way,  instead  of  renting  one 
from  somebody  else. 

To  Miss  Baldwin's  observant  eyes,  Colonel  Eldridge 
seemed  to  have  aged  since  she  had  last  seen  him.  He 
had  been  unwell,  and  was  not  quite  himself  yet,  though 
he  wouldn't  acknowledge  it.  But  the  change  in  him 
didn't  come  from  that.  He  was  depressed  and  silent, 
and  made  fewer  efforts  to  conceal  his  mood  before  his 
family  than  was  his  custom.  Miss  Baldwin  wondered 
whether  his  family  knew  everything  that  was  behind 
this  somewhat  startling  change  in  his  life.  Was  he 


380         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE      , 

hiding  anything  from  them?  Was  he  a  secret  gambler, 
with  a  chapter  to  come  in  which  his  horses  would  be 
led  away  from  the  door,  and  his  wife  would  lean  over 
a  ruined  man  with  bent  head  and  nervous  fingers 
clutching  a  pack  of  cards?  But  she  rejected  the  idea. 
Colonel  Eldridge  only  had  one  horse,  and  an  old  pony, 
and  he  could  hardly  be  induced  to  make  a  four  at 
family  Bridge,  with  stakes  of  threepence  a  hundred. 
The  estrangement  from  his  brother  still  continued ;  she 
had  gathered  that.  There  was  something  there  to 
wonder  about,  perhaps  a  recently  discovered  will,  per- 
haps the  change  of  an  heir  at  birth.  Time  would 
show.  There  was  not  enough  yet  to  alter  the  interest 
of  a  love  story  into  one  of  mystery. 

She  divined,  with  some  special  sense  that  she  had, 
that  Fred  Comfrey  was  a  definitely  rejected  suitor; 
though  the  children  had  hardly  mentioned  his  name  and 
the  others  not  at  all.  But  it  could  not  have  been  that 
which  made  Pamela  almost  as  silent  and  sad-looking 
as  her  father,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  behave  with 
her  usual  brightness,  and  especially  so  to  him.  It  was 
only  at  odd  moments  that  Miss  Baldwin  caught  the 
look  on  her  face  which  told  her  so  much;  and  the 
silence  was  for  when  her  father  and  mother  were  not 
there. 

What  was  it  then  that  was  troubling  her?  Miss 
Baldwin  formed  many  conjectures,  but  recognized  that 
she  must  wait  for  further  material  in  order  to  set  her 
thoughts  to  one  of  them. 

The  occasion  that  she  wanted  came  two  days  after 
she  had  returned  to  IJayslope.  Lord  Horsham  came 


THE  NEW  CHAPTER  381 

over  to  lunch,  and  stayed  for  the  afternoon.  He  was 
going  back  to  Oxford  the  next  day. 

Pamela's  spirits  had  come  back  to  her.  She  laughed 
and  chattered  in  her  old  way.  Lord  Horsham  had 
never  had  such  a  reception  from  her  in  Miss  Baldwin's 
recollection,  though  all  of  them  were  brought  into  it, 
and  there  was  no  time  that  Miss  Baldwin  knew  of  when 
she  was  alone  with  him  during  that  lively  afternoon. 
When  he  had  gone,  she  relapsed  into  her  listless  mood, 
which  was  even  more  marked  than  it  had  been  before. 

So  now  Miss  Baldwin  knew.  Pamela  loved  Lord 
Horsham,  and  any  separation  from  him  lay  heavy  upon 
her  spirits.  She  wondered  what  had  brought  the 
change,  for  Pamela  had  certainly  not  been  in  love  with 
him  a  month  ago.  As  for  him,  there  was  no  doubt 
about  it.  He  was  head  over  ears,  and  showed  it 
plainly.  It  could  not  be  long  now  before  that  chapter, 
and  with  it  the  whole  story,  was  satisfactorily 
closed. 

Colonel  Eldridge  had  a  great  deal  of  estate  work 
to  do  now,  which  had  fallen  somewhat  into  arrears  dur- 
ing the  days  he  had  been  laid  up.  Besides  hours  spent 
in  his  office,  where  there  was  now  only  a  clerk  to  help 
him,  he  had  to  be  out  constantly,  and  in  all  weathers. 
Mrs.  Eldridge  tried  to  dissuade  him  from  going  about 
so  much,  but  he  was  not  a  man  who  would  respond  to 
such  dissuasion,  with  the  result  that  he  caught  another 
bad  cold  and  had  to  take  to  his  bed.  There  she  had 
him  to  some  extent  at  her  mercy,  but  she  could  not 
prevent  him  worrying  himself  over  what  ought  to  have 
been  done,  but  couldn't  be  done,  or  from  busying  him- 


382 

self  with  papers,  when  he  ought  to  have  been  lying 
still  doing  nothing. 

He  began  to  mend  on  the  third  day,  and  proposed  to 
get  up  on  the  next.  She  took  up  his  breakfast  herself, 
and  his  letters,  and  then  went  down  to  her  own.  When 
she  went  up  again,  he  was  lying  still,  with  very  little 
breakfast  eaten  and  half  his  letters  unopened.  She 
persuaded  him  to  eat  a  little  more,  and  he  talked  to 
her  for  a  time,  and  then  said  he  should  like  a  message 
sent  over  to  ask  Lord  Crowborough  to  come  and  see 
him.  He  thought  he  would  go  to  sleep  in  the  mean- 
time ;  there  wouldn't  be  much  to  do  this  morning ;  bet- 
ter take  full  advantage  of  his  last  day  in  bed.  He 
smiled  at  her  and  said  that  she  was  not  to  come  both- 
ering him  until  Lord  Crowborough  came.  He  wanted 
to  see  him  about  something  particularly.  Perhaps 
she'd  better  send  the  car  for  him,  and  a  note.  No,  he 
would  write  the  note  himself.  She  was  to  go  down  and 
order  the  car,  while  he  wrote  it. 

An  hour  or  so  later  Lord  Crowborough  was  ushered 
into  his  room,  with  a  face  of  concern.  This  was  ap- 
parently on  account  of  Colonel  Eldridge's  illness,  for 
he  was  quite  cheerful  with  Mrs.  Eldridge  until  she  left 
them,  with  instructions  not  to  interrupt  their  confab- 
ulation, which  might  take  some  time.  But  when  the 
door  had  been  shut  behind  her  his  face  was  more  con- 
cerned than  ever  as  he  came  to  the  bedside,  and  said: 
"  You've  had  some  bad  news,  Edmund.  I'm  very  sorry 
to  hear  that.  And  you're  not  in  a  fit  state  for  it, 
either.  I  can  see  that." 

Colonel  Eldridge  handed  him  a  letter.     "  You're  the 


THE  NEW  CHAPTER  383 

only  man,  I  suppose,  who  knows  all  about  it,"  he  said. 
"  Is  it  true?  " 

Lord  Crowborough  read  the  letter  through,  with 
pursing  of  the  lips,  and  a  deepening  frown.  Colonel 
Eldridge  watched  his  face  anxiously  for  a  time,  and 
then  turned  his  eyes  away,  and  lay  quite  still  until  he 
had  finished. 

Lord  Crowborough  glanced  at  him,  when  he  had  come 
to  the  end,  and  waited  a  moment  before  speaking. 
Then  he  folded  the  letter  and  said :  "  Yes,  Edmund, 
it's  true,  in  all  essentials ;  but  what  a  wicked  thing  to 
send  it  to  you !  The  woman  must  be  mad." 

Colonel  Eldridge  roused  himself.  "  Oh,  you  see 
what  she  says.  It  has  been  lying  on  her  conscience 
.  .  .  Spiritualism,  and  all  that.  .  .  .  She  wants 
excitement,  of  course.  We  needn't  bother  about  her ; 
she's  had  the  money,  thank  goodness.  She  can't  do 
anything  more,  except  put  it  about,  which  I  dare  say 
she  will  do,  though  she  swears  she  won't.  It's  you 
I'm  thinking  of,  John.  I  quarrelled  with  you  for  say- 
ing it ;  I  behaved  badly  to  you.  I  ..." 

Lord  Crowborough  lifted  hands  of  deprecation. 
"  Oh,  my  dear  Edmund ;  my  dear  fellow !  I  ought  not 
to  have  taken  the  line  I  did  about  it.  I  regretted  it 
very  much  afterwards,  when  the  poor  boy  was  killed. 
Don't  think  anything  more  about  that.  And  don't 
let  it  affect  you  towards  his  memory.  He'd  gone 
wrong;  yes,  more  than  you  knew;  but  he  made  up  for 
it  in  the  end.  I've  thought  kindly  of  him,  you  know, 
for  a  long  time  past,  and  I  knew  it  all  the  time.  Per- 
haps it  would  have  been  better  if  you  had  known  it  at 


384         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

the  first.  It's  a  blow,  coming  now.  But  nothing  is 
changed  by  it.  You  must  put  it  aside.  You  will,  in 
time.  It's  all  forgiven." 

There  was  silence  for  a  time.  Then  Colonel  Eld- 
ridge  said :  "  You're  kind  and  good  about  it,  John. 
I  knew  you  would  be,  when  I  sent  for  you.  And  you've 
been  kind  all  along.  I  know  now  that  my  son — 
cheated — yours  out  of  a  large  sum  of  money,  besides 
pushing  him  into  something  that  he'd  never  have  taken 
up,  if  he  had  been  left  to  himself.  I  know  Horsham 
well  enough  to  say  that ;  and  my  son  was  an  older  man, 
who  ought  to  have  looked  after  him — coming  into  the 
Regiment  as  a  boy — the  son  of  one  of  my  oldest 
friends.  It  was  very  bad.  I  can't  quite  bring  my 
mind  to  it.  But  the  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  arrange 
for  the  payment — " 

Lord  Crowborough  had  tried  to  break  in  once  or 
twice,  and  now  did  so  decisively.  "  My  dear  Edmund, 
the  money  was  paid.  William  knew,  and  he  insisted 
on  doing  it.  I  couldn't  refuse.  Whatever  I  might 
have  done,  if  I'd  been  left  to  myself,  I  don't  deserve  the 
credit  of  that.  There's  nothing  more  to  be  done 
there." 

"  William  paid,  you  say  ?  " 

"Yes.  Fortunately  I  told  him  all  about  it — you 
knew  that,  didn't  you?  It  was  when  I  was  still  very 
angry,  and  had  let  out  to  you  what  I  did,  that  you  took 
such  exception  to.  I  hope  I  should  have  done  after- 
wards what  I  did  do,  and  draw  back  from  what  I  had 
said,  so  as  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  it  from  you.  But 
it  was  William  who  showed  me  that  it  was  the  right 


THE  NEW  CHAPTER  385 

thing  to  do,  and  almost  directly  afterwards  the  poor 
boy  was  killed,  and  then  I  can  tell  you  I  was  very  glad 
that  I  hadn't  pressed  it  with  you.  William  saw  it  at 
once.  He  made  me  take  a  cheque  for  the — for  the  loss, 
then  and  there,  and  promise  never  to  mention  it  again, 
even  to  him.  I've  wished  lately  ..." 

He  broke  off.  "  You've  wished  lately  that  I'd  known 
that,"  said  Colonel  Eldridge  quietly.  "  So  do  I.  One 
doesn't  quarrel  with  men  who  treat  one  like  that." 

Lord  Crowborough  didn't  quite  understand  him.  "  I 
don't  think  you  need  consider  it  as  an  extra  obliga- 
tion," he  said.  "  I  know  it  was  over  and  done  with, 
for  William,  when  he  wrote  his  cheque,  and  made  me 
promise  to  say  nothing  about  it.  I've  talked  to  him 
since,  as  you  know,  and  he  was  extremely  irritated 
against  you — no  sense  in  pretending  he  wasn't — but 
that  never  came  up.  I'm  sure  he's  never  grudged  it, 
whatever  has  happened  since." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  about  the  money.  I've  thought 
too  much  about  William's  money,  and  talked  too  much 
about  it,  to  you  among  others.  His  money  made  it 
easy  for  him,  perhaps,  to  pay  what  had  to  be  paid; 
but  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  taking  pains  to  keep 
me  from  knowledge  of  my  son's  disgrace." 

Lord  Crowborough  brightened.  "  Oh,  I'm  so  glad 
you've  said  that,  Edmund,"  he  said.  "  You've  both 
misunderstood  each  other,  and  you've  drifted  apart. 
My  dear  fellow,  if  this  brings  you  together  again — 
Oh,  I  shall  be  so  glad  of  that." 

Again  there  was  silence  for  a  time.  Then  Colonel 
Eldridge  said:  "  Horsham  knows,  I  suppose.  He  and 


386    THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

this — this  woman's  son  joined  together,  didn't  they? 
It  was  plain  to  all  of  them." 

Lord  Crowborough  had  forgotten  for  the  moment 
what  a  shock  the  certain  knowledge  of  his  son's  dis- 
grace must  have  been  to  him,  and  set  himself  to  re- 
move the  effects  of  it  from  his  mind.  Colonel  Eldridge 
accepted  what  he  said,  listlessly,  but  it  was  evident  that 
no  words  could  heal  the  wound  that  had  been  dealt  him. 
Only  time  could  do  that.  Even  the  knowledge  of  his 
brother's  action,  which  had  changed  the  current  of  his 
thoughts  for  a  time  seemed  to  have  brought  him  only 
temporary  relief.  He  seemed  hardly  interested  in  it 
now.  There  was  an  air  of  hopeless  depression  on 
him  that  Lord  Crowborough  was  quite  unable  to  re- 
move. 

He  roused  himself  to  agree  upon  what  steps  to  take. 
There  was  little  that  could  be  done.  Lord  Crow- 
borough  himself  answered  the  letter  then  and  there. 
He  wrote  on  behalf  of  his  friend,  who  was  ill.  His  own 
son  had  been  concerned  in  the  affair  about  which  Mrs. 
Barrett  had  written  to  Colonel  Eldridge,  and  all  the 
facts  were  known  to  him.  Until  now  they  had  not  been 
known  to  Colonel  Eldridge.  He  would  not  pretend 
that  he  understood  the  motives  which  had  led  her  to 
deliver  such  a  blow  to  a  man  who  had  lost  his  only  son, 
and  thus  immeasurably  increase  his  grief.  He  would 
only  beg  of  her  to  let  the  story  go  no  farther. 

He  directed  and  closed  the  letter  without  offering  to 
show  it  to  Colonel  Eldridge,  who  made  no  request  that 
he  should  do  so.  Then  he  burnt  the  letter  that  had 
worked  such  mischief,  and  soon  afterwards  he  went 


THE  NEW  CHAPTER  887 

away,  very  disturbed  in  his  mind  at  what  had  taken 
place,  and  what  its  effects  might  be. 

Colonel  Eldridge  lay  in  bed  all  that  day,  doing 
nothing,  and  not  wishing  to  talk.  The  next  day  he 
got  up,  and  went  about  his  business  as  usual,  though 
Mrs.  Eldridge  begged  him  to  stay  in  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    TRODDEN    WAY 

IT  was  a  wild  night  ef  wind  and  rain.  Mrs.  Eld- 
ridge  and  Pamela  sat  in  the  morning-room,  waiting. 
Every  now  and  then  Mrs.  Eldridge  would  go  upstairs, 
and  creep  quietly  into  her  husband's  room,  to  see  if 
he  was  still  asleep.  Then  she  would  come  down  again, 
and  they  would  sit  still,  talking  very  little,  while  the 
big  clock  in  the  corner  ticked  on,  and  the  gusts  of  rain 
blew  against  the  window-panes. 

Colonel  Eldridge  had  come  in  the  evening  before, 
shivering,  and  had  gone  to  bed.  In  the  morning  his 
temperature  was  high,  but  he  said  he  felt  better,  and 
refused  to  have  a  doctor  sent  for.  Mrs.  Eldridge, 
however,  took  that  matter  into  her  own  hands,  and 
sent  ror  one,  who  came  towards  the  end  of  the  morning. 
He  took  a  grave  view  of  the  case,  and  feared  pneu- 
monia. He  would  come  again  in  the  evening,  and  bring 
a  nurse  with  him.  It  might  be  late  before  he  came. 
There  was  a  lot, of  illness  about,  and  nurses  were  diffi- 
cult to  get. 

There  was  no  telephone  at  the  Hall,  but  there  was 
one  at  the  Grange.  Pamela  and  Judith  had  spent 
most  of  the  afternoon  there.  At  last  the  doctor  had 
telephoned  that  a  nurse  was  coming  down  from  London 
by  the  last  train.  He  would  meet  her  and  bring  her 
himself. 

388 


THE  TRODDEN  WAY  389 

The  train  arrived  at  a  quarter  past  eleven,  and  it 
was  half  an  hour's  motor-run  to  the  Hall.  On  such  a 
night  as  this  it  might  take  longer. 

The  time  crept  on.  Soon  after  half-past  eleven 
Pamela  sprang  up  from  her  chair.  "  I'm  sure  I  heard 
a  motor,"  she  said,  and  ran  to  the  window. 

"  It's  too  early  yet,"  Mrs.  Eldridge  said;  but  Pam- 
ela had  drawn  back  the  curtains.  The  strong  head- 
lights of  a  big  car  were  already  swinging  round  to  the 
hall  door. 

They  went  out,  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  opened  the  door, 
as  the  bell  rang.  It  was  Lord  Eldridge  who  was  stand- 
ing there,  already  unfastening  his  heavy  fur  coat. 

He  slipped  it  off  as  he  came  in.  He  was  in  his  eve- 
ning clothes.  "How  is  he?"  he  asked,  without  any 
other  greeting.  "  Has  the  nurse  come  yet?  " 

Many  emotions  crossed  Mrs.  Eldridge's  mind,  but  the 
chief  of  them,  in  spite  of  her  disappointment,  and  the 
resentment  she  had  nurtured  against  him,  was  relief 
at  his  appearance;  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  if  any- 
thing ought  to  be  done,  he  could  do  it. 

When  he  heard  of  the  nurse  expected,  he  considered, 
watch  in  hand,  whether  it  would  be  worth  while  to 
motor  back  in  his  fast  car  towards  the  station,  but 
decided  against  it.  In  a  few  minutes  the  doctor  and 
the  nurse  would  be  coming.  He  went  into  the  morning- 
room  with  Pamela,  while  Mrs.  Eldridge  went  upstairs 
again. 

"  I  only  got  your  message  just  before  nine  o'clock," 
he  said.  "  They  didn't  know  where  to  find  me." 

She  stood  before  him,  looking  up  into  his  face.     "  I 


390         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

haven't  told  mother  I  tried  to  get  you,"  she  said,  "  in 
case  you  couldn't  come.  I  knew  you  would  if  you 
could,  Uncle  Bill." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  of  course.  Poor  dear  fellow!  But 
he'll  get  over  it.  We'll  pull  him  round  between  us." 

There  was  such  an  air  of  energy  and  resource  about 
him  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  could  do  more  than  a  nurse 
or  a  doctor.  He  was  wiping  his  face,  which  was  red, 
and  wet  with  the  rain.  He  told  her  hurriedly  that  he 
had  come  up  from  Suffolk  only  that  afternoon,  and  had 
gone  to  his  club  for  the  night.  He  had  dined  out,  and 
her  message  had  passed  to  and  fro  until  it  had  found 
him,  when  he  had  come  straight  away.  "  If  I'd  only 
gone  home,  as  I  might  have  done,"  he  said,  "  I  should 
have  been  here  hours  ago,  and  might  have  brought  a 
nurse  down  with  me." 

He  put  his  arm  round  her  as  she  bent  her  head  to 
hide  her  tears.  "  There,  there,  my  dear ! "  he  said 
consolingly.  "  Don't  worry.  It  will  be  all  right 
now." 

She  dried  her  eyes.  "  I  don't  want  mother  to  see 
me  upset,"  she  said ;  "  but  I've  been  so  frightened. 
Father  has  hardly  ever  been  ill,  until  lately.  He  has 
been  so  worried  and  unhappy,  I  suppose  he  couldn't 
throw  it  off.  I'm  sure  it  will  be  the  best  thing  for  him 
that  you  have  come  at  once,  like  this." 

A  shade  passed  over  his  face.  "  I'd  have  come  before 
if  I'd  thought  he  would  want  me,"  he  said.  "  It's 
been  an  unhappy  business,  but  it's  all  over  now.  It 
shatt  be  all  over.  I've  taken  offence  too  readily.  I 
won't  take  offence  at  anything  now." 


THE  TRODDEN  WAY  391 

"  I'm  sure  there'll  be  nothing  to  take  offence  at," 
she  said,  a  little  stiffly.  "  When  you  see  him,  you'll 
only  be  sorry  for  him." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  came  in  at  that  moment.  "  He's 
awake,"  she  said.  "  He  had  heard  the  car  and  I  had 
to  tell  him  it  was  you  who  had  come,  William.  He 
wants  to  see  you.  I  don't  know — " 

"  If  he  wants  it ! "  he  said,  preparing  to  go.  "  I 
shan't  upset  him,  Cynthia.  And  the  doctor  ought  to 
be  here  directly." 

She  took  him  upstairs.  "  He's  very  ill,"  she  said, 
in  a  colourless  voice.  "  I  know  he  is,  though  he  says  he 
isn't.  I'm  sure  he  mustn't  be  excited.  But  I  had  to  tell 
him  you  were  here,  and  he  would  see  you  at  once." 

"  I  shan't  excite  him,"  he  said  shortly. 

They  went  into  the  room.  Colonel  Eldridge  was 
lying  in  his  bed  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  with  a  shaded 
reading-lamp  by  his  side.  He  hardly  looked  ill,  and 
he  greeted  his  brother  in  his  ordinary  voice.  "Well, 
Bill,  I'm  glad  you've  come,  though  it's  a  beastly  night 
to  get  you  out.  You  didn't  walk  through  the  wood, 
did  you  ?  " 

His  brother  understood  at  once  that  he  was  light- 
headed. "  No,  old  boy,"  he  said,  taking  his  hand  in 
his.  "  I  came  in  the  car.  I  thought  I  must  look  in 
and  see  how  you  were.  You'll  have  the  doctor  here 
in  a  minute.  I'll  keep  you  company  till  he  comes." 

He  sat  down  by  the  bed,  while  Mrs.  Eldridge  stood, 
not  knowing  what  to  do.  "  You  can  leave  me  and  Bill 
for  a  bit,"  her  husband  said.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  him 
about  that  four  acre  field  at  Barton's  Close.  I  don't 


392         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

think  it's  much  good  for  pasture  where  it  is.  I  thought 
he  might  like  to  take  it  into  his  garden.  Just  see  if 
you  can  find  the  big  estate  map  in  my  room." 

She  went  out  slowly.  "  That's  a  good  idea,  Ed- 
mund," William  said  in  a  quiet  voice.  "  We  can  talk  it 
over  when  you're  better.  I  shouldn't  think  about  it 
now,  if  I  were  you.  Let  me  make  you  a  bit  more  com- 
fortable." 

He  rearranged  the  bedclothes,  which  his  brother  had 
thrown  off,  talking  in  a  soothing  voice  as  he  did  so. 
Colonel  Eldridge  was  in  a  high  fever.  He  thought  it 
was  his  father  who  was  with  him,  and  said :  "  William 
didn't  want  to  get  into  the  punt.  It  was  me  who  made 
him." 

What  strange  things  come  to  the  surface  of  the  mind 
when  it  is  no  longer  under  control!  Years  ago,  when 
they  were  children,  they  had  been  upset  from  a  shooting 
punt,  into  which  they  had  been  forbidden  to  go.  It 
was  one  of  countless  such  pranks  that  had  been  forgot- 
ten, or  at  least  never  brought  to  memory.  It  came  to 
William  now  that  his  brother  had  always  taken  blame 
on  himself  for  any  of  them  that  had  turned  out  un- 
fortunately, and  touched  him  acutely.  It  was  his  elder 
brother  who  was  lying  there,  until  lately  the  person 
most  looked  up  to  in  all  his  world.  His  heart  was  con- 
stricted with  a  poignant  emotion,  and  his  voice  trem- 
bled as  he  said  words  that  would  calm  the  rapid  flow 
of  his  speech,  now  becoming  more  incoherent.  Oh,  if 
only  they  could  pull  him  through  this,  he  would  never 
allow  himself  again  to  treat  him  as  anything  but  the 
elder  brother,  whom  he  could  uphold,  but  must  not 


THE  TRODDEN  WAY  393 

gainsay.  What  would  it  matter  if  he  was  sometimes 
unreasonable?  There  was  no  one  else  in  the  world  to 
whom  it  was  so  worth  while  to  give  in ;  no  one  who  car- 
ried with  him  that  sense  of  rightful  authority,  even  of 
protection.  He  had  been  borne  down  by  his  troubles. 
Were  any  of  them  his  brother's  making? 

The  doctor  and  the  nurse  came  in.  William  was  sent 
out  of  the  room  at  once. 

By  the  next  day  they  seemed  to  have  settled  down  to 
the  struggle  for  a  life,  as  if  nothing  else  in  the  world 
mattered.  Lord  Eldridge,  after  a  few  hours'  sleep, 
had  motored  back  to  London,  to  find  and  bring  down 
another  nurse.  He  had  sent  for  his  wife  to  come  to  the 
Grange,  and  set  in  hand  all  arrangements  for  their  stay- 
ing there,  and  for  the  carrying  on  of  such  of  his  work 
as  could  not  be  left  undone.  He  was  back  at  the  Hall 
before  mid-day,  looking  as  if  he  had  been  doing  nothing 
out  of  the  usual  run,  but  with  a  deep  gravity  underly- 
ing his  capable  confidence-bearing  demeanour.  His  con- 
tact with  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  almost  impersonal.  She 
relied  on  him,  and  talked  .with  him  about  what  was  to 
be  done  without  any  sense  of  awkwardness.  Her  re- 
sentments were  not  solved;  they  were  just  put  aside. 
But  for  the  girls  the  estrangement  was  over  and  done 
with.  They  clung  to  his  authority  and  resource,  and 
to  his  warm  supporting  affection,  which  he  showed 
towards  them  so  abundantly. 

Soon  after  he  had  returned,  Mrs.  Eldridge  came  to 
him  and  said  that  her  husband  wanted  to  see  him.  He 
was  quite  himself  now.  The  nurse  had  said  that  he  had 
better  have  his  way,  but  Lord  Eldridge  must  be  care- 


394        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

ful  not  to  excite  him,  and  must  not  stop  in  the  room 
long. 

The  weight  of  past  trouble  was  upon  Mrs.  Eldridge 
now.  She  hesitated  and  faltered,  and  it  was  plain 
that  she  disliked  being  the  bearer  of  this  message. 

"  My  dear  Cynthia,"  he  said,  "  if  he  wants  to  see  me, 
it  is  because  he  wants  our  dispute  to  be  put  an  end  to, 
once  for  all.  I  want  that  too,  and  you  can  trust  me 
to  think  of  nothing  but  to  set  his  mind  at  rest.  Don't 
think  of  me  as  an  enemy  any  longer." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  led  him  up  to  the  room. 

His  brother's  eyes  were  upon  him,  as  he  went  in, 
with  an  expression  that  was  sorrowful,  but  also  wel- 
coming. "  Well,  William,"  he  said,  in  a  low  but  audi- 
ble voice,  "  it  does  me  good  to  see  you  here.  I  seem  to 
be  worse  than  I  thought  I  was,  but  we  can  have  a  little 
chat.  It  was  good  of  you  to  come,  after  all  that  has 
happened." 

"  My  dear  old  fellow,  don't  let's  talk  about  what  has 
happened.  I've  been  very  much  to  blame ;  but  you  have 
always  had  a  lot  to  put  up  with  in  my  ways  of  doing 
things.  Yet  we've  been  friends  all  our  lives,  and  noth- 
ing is  ever  going  to  part  us  again." 

He  had  taken  his  hand,  and  given  it  a  gentle  pres- 
sure. His  brother  held  it  in  his  for  an  appreciable 
time,  and  then  grasped  it  with  a  meaning  that  was 
.plain  enough  without  further  words.  William  sat 
(down  by  his  side,  with  a  sensation  of  choking  in  his 
throat.  Their  quarrel  was  at  an  end. 

"There's  a  lot  to  settle,"  Colonel  Eldridge  said. 
"  I  may  not  be  fit  to  talk  to  you  again.  If  I  don't  get 


THE  TRODDEN  WAY  395 

over  this,  you'll  look  after  Cynthia  and  the  children. 
They'll  have  enough,  but  I've  always  directed  all  our 
affairs;  she'll  be  lost  at  first." 

William  forced  himself  with  a  great  effort  to  speak 
naturally  and  evenly.  "  You'll  get  over  it,  my  dear 
old  fellow,"  he  said  confidently;  "but  I  agree  that 
it's  best  to  be  prepared.  We've  been  like  one  family, 
until  lately,  and  that's  what  we  are  again  now.  You 
were  quite  right  in  saying  that  I  had  spoilt  the  Grange 
for  them,  or  I'd  have  looked  after  them  there.  They 
shall  stay  here,  dear  Edmund.  The  old  place  will  be 
more  like  it  has  always  been  with  them  in  it,  and  as  I 
like  it  to  be,  than  with  us  living  in  it.  I'm  committed 
to  another  sort  of  life  now,  and  it's  too  late  to  go  back. 
But  we  shall  be  down  here  often,  in  the  old  way. 
They'll  have  us  to  depend  upon,  in  whatever  they  can't 
do  for  themselves." 

"You  haven't  bought  that  other  place?" 

"  No.  I  did  think  of  it ;  but  I  shall  give  it  up  after 
this  season,  anyhow.  If  all  goes  well,  as  I'm  sure  it 
will,  if  you  set  your  mind  to  getting  better,  we  shall 
come  back  here,  to  the  Grange,  and  you  must  let  me 
join  you  in  a  closer  partnership.  You'll  be  here  to 
look  after  the  place  in  a  way  I  couldn't  do ;  you'll  go 
on  running  it  in  your  own  way,  which  couldn't  be  bet- 
tered, but  under  all  the  new  conditions  there's  room  for 
capital  and  business  methods  in  estate  management, 
which  I'm  in  a  position  to  bring  in.  We  can  do  better 
with  Hayslope  if  we  work  together;  we  can  get  as 
much  out  of  it  as  ever." 

Colonel  Eldridge  sighed.     "  It  is  what  ought  to  have 


396        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

been  done,"  he  said.  "  And  you  have  always  been  ready 
to  do  it,  I  know.  You'll  do  better  for  the  place  than  I 
could  now,  and  for  my  family.  I've  thought  of  them 
always ;  but  I've  not  done  the  best  for  them  that  could 
have  been  done.  I  think  I  did  before,  but  I've  been 
too  slow  to  see  that  it  wasn't  in  my  power  any  longer. 
I  shall  leave  it  all  to  you,  William,  and  go  with  a  quiet 
mind,  if  I  have  to  go.  Thank  God,  you  can  do  what  I 
couldn't  and  that  I've  come  round  to  trusting  to  you 
for  it  before  it's  too  late.  Perhaps  all  the  girls  won't 
be  here  at  home  much  longer.  I  should  have  liked  to 
know  that  Pamela  would  be  happily  married ;  but  that 
can't  be  hurried.  There  are  other  things  to  settle, 
William.  We  mustn't  lose  time.  Poor  Hugo  .  .  . 
there's  something  I  want  to  tell  you  .  .  .  you  know 
something  of  it.  Oh,  and  Crowborough  told  me  what 
you'd  done,  when  it  first  came  out.  I  haven't  thanked 
you  for  that.  There's  such  a  lot  to  talk  about." 

He  was  getting  restless.  William  put  a  quietening 
hand  upon  him.  "  I  know  everything,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  let's  waste  time  over  that.  I  know  about  Mrs. 
Barrett,  and  the  money.  Young  Comfrey  told  me  of 
the  new  demand.  He  ought  not  to  have  done  it,  but 
I'm  very  glad  he  did.  I  can  take  all  that  on  me  now, 
Edmund.  You  won't  want  to  hold  out  any  longer,  will 
you?  I  know  you  won't.  I'm  very  sorry,  dear  old 
fellow,  for  the  resentment  I've  been  keeping  up;  and 
ashamed  of  it.  If  you  leave  it  all  to  me,  and  put  it  out 
of  your  mind  once  for  all,  you'll  give  me  more  comfort 
and  pleasure  than  you  could  in  any  other  way." 

He  seemed  to  be  controlling  his  mind  to  a  new  idea. 


THE  TRODDEN  WAY  397 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  at  last,  and  more  quietly.  "  It's  one 
of  the  many  things  that  you'll  do  for  me.  You've  been 
generous  all  through,  and  I've  been  stiff  and  un- 
grateful." 

The  nurse  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  came  in.  William  took 
his  brother's  hand  in  his,  and  they  looked  into  one 
another's  faces.  It  was  a  momentary  look,  but  there 
was  nothing  to  interrupt  the  message  it  carried,  of  un- 
derstanding, and  affection,  and  trust. 

William  went  downstairs,  and  found  Pamela  there. 
He  was  much  moved,  and  could  not  hide  his  emotion 
from  her.  She  loved  him  the  better  for  it.  "  You 
don't  think  he's  worse,  do  you,  Uncle  Bill?  "  she  asked 
him.  "  He  will  get  better,  won't  he?  " 

"  One  always  thinks  of  strong  people  you've  never 
seen  ill  worse  than  they  are,"  he  said,  to  explain  his 
emotion.  "  Yes,  I  think  he'll  get  better  now.  I've  had 
very  little  time  with  him,  but  I've  been  able  to  relieve 
his  mind  of  some  things  that  have  lain  heavy  on  it.  I 
think  there's  nothing  he  need  worry  about  now;  and  I 
shall  be  able  to  talk  to  him  again.  It's  been  a  sad 
business,  Pam — our  quarrel.  I've  been  very  much  to 
blame,  but  it's  all  over  now.  I  don't  want  to  think 
too  much  about  it,  as  he  won't,  any  longer.  The  way 
has  been  made  clear  for  us  to  help  each  other  in  what 
we  want  done.  You  won't  be  leaving  Hayslope,  my 
dear.  That's  settled,  at  any  rate." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  of  that,  if  he  gets  better,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  Uncle  Bill,  I  wish  you'd  send  for  Lord 
Crowborough." 

"  My  dear,  you  mustn't   get  thinking  that  he  won't 


398         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

recover.  I'm  not  going  to  let  myself  think  it.  I  be- 
lieve, somehow,  that  if  we  fight  against  that  idea  in  our 
minds,  it  will  help  him  to  fight  through  himself." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know.  But  if  he  doesn't !  I've  made 
Nurse  Mary  tell  me,  if  he  doesn't  get  better,  it  can't 
last  very  long.  I  think  he  would  like  to  see  Lord  Crow- 
borough;  he  has  depended  on  him  a  good  deal  lately, 
and  he  has  always  cheered  him  up  when  he  has  been  over. 
Do  send  for  him,  will  you,  Uncle  Bill?" 

He  was  a  little  surprised  at  her  earnestness,  but 
promised  to  do  what  she  wished.  "  I'll  telephone  over 
directly  I  get  to  the  Grange,"  he  said. 

"  He  isn't  at  the  Castle,"  she  said.  "  They  went  up 
to  London  a  few  days  ago.  You'll  telephone  to  him 
there,  won't  you?  I  know  he  will  come  down,  if  he 
knows  how  ill  father  is.  Tell  him  that  I  asked  you  to." 

He  promised  to  do  that,  and  left  her.  She  stood  at 
the  window,  and  saw  him  go  across  the  lawn  and  under 
the  bare  branches  of  the  trees  down  into  the  wood. 
She  stood  there  for  a  long  time,  after  he  had  disap- 
peared, and  when  she  turned  back  to  the  room  her  face 
was  sad  but  composed. 

The  illness  ran  its  quick  course,  which  seemed  to  drag 
interminably  to  those  who  could  do  little  but  watch  it. 
There  were  slight  fluctuations,  but  never  much  hope  of 
recovery,  at  least  to  those  who  had  had  experience  of 
such  an  illness.  To  his  children,  who  saw  him  some- 
times for  a  few  minutes  when  he  was  at  his  best,  it 
seemed  impossible  that  he  should  be  nearing  his  end. 
He  would  smile  at  them,  and  say  a  few  words.  They 


THE  TRODDEN  WAY  399 

were  always  words  that  they  would  remember  after- 
wards— as  if  he  had  thought  out  what  he  could  say  in 
so  short  a  time,  that  would  not  sadden  them  with  the 
idea  that  he  expected  to  die,  and  yet  would  not  waste 
the  precious  time  he  had  still  to  be  with  them.  He  sent 
for  Timbs  and  old  Jackson,  and  one  or  two  more  of  the 
servants  and  the  villagers.  To  all  of  these  he  had 
something  definite  to  say  which  was  not  a  farewell; 
but  they  would  count  it  so  afterwards. 

Lord  Crowborough  had  left  London  for  Bath.  He 
wired  to  say  he  was  coming  on  the  fourth  day,  by  the 
train  which  arrived  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  It 
was  doubtful  whether  he  would  be  able  to  see  Colonel 
Eldridge  that  day;  but  it  had  been  arranged  that  he 
was  to  stay  at  the  Grange. 

Lord  Eldridge's  car  had  been  sent  to  the  station. 
It  might  be  back  at  any  time  now.  Pamela  was  alone 
in  the  morning-room.  It  had  come  to  be  recognized 
that  it  was  she  who  had  pressed  for  him  to  come,  and 
pressed  again  when  it  had  seemed  impossible  to  get  him. 
It  was  she. who  was  to  receive  him;  she  had  asked  that 
she  should. 

She  sat  motionless  in  front  of  the  fire,  except  that 
once  or  twice  she  turned  her  head  to  listen.  The  big 
car  made  very  little  noise ;  she  was  on  the  alert  to  catch 
the  first  sounds  of  it. 

At  last  it  came — the  crunching  of  the  wet  gravel, 
heard  as  soon,  as  the  purring  of  the  engine.  She 
sprang  up,  as  if  she  would  go  out  to  meet  the  arrival, 
but  stood  still,  as  if,  after  all,  she  was  unable  to  stir. 
Her  hand  went  to  her  heart,  and  there  was  a  look 


400         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

almost  of  fright  on  her  face,  as  she  stood  in  front  of 
the  fire,  looking  towards  the  door. 

It  opened,  but  she  could  not  move.  Then  her  face 
changed  altogether,  with  a  breaking  up  of  its  expres- 
sion of  strain,  and  she  gave  a  little  crj.  For  it  was 
not  Lord  Crowborough,  but  Norman  who  came  quickly 
into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

AN    ENDING    AND    A    BEGINNING 

PAMELA  was  sobbing  in  Norman's  arms  when  Lord 
Crowborough  came  into  the  room  almost  immediately 
after  him.  She  controlled  herself  with  a  great  effort, 
and  found  herself  able  to  talk  to  Lord  Crowborough, 
while  Norman  went  to  find  his  father  and  mother,  who 
were  both  in  the  house. 

Lord  Crowborough  was  in  great  distress,  but  he  had 
to  explain  fully  why  he  had  not  been  able  to  come 
earlier,  and  to  express  his  regret  at  the  delay.  Perhaps 
his  deliberate  detailed  speech  calmed  her.  She  would 
not  acknowledge  to  him  that  hope  was  small.  "  When 
he  is  well  enough  it  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  him  to 
see  you,"  she  said.  "  I  knew  he  would  want  to,  and 
that  anything  that  cheers  him  up  must  be  good  for 
him.  That's  why  I  persuaded  Uncle  William  to  go 
on  until  he  got  you.  I  knew  you  would  come  if  you 
could." 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear ;  oh,  yes.  It's  dreadfully  sad. 
I  should  never  have  forgiven  myself  if  I  hadn't  come 
in  time.  Poor,  dear  fellow!  It  gave  me  a  great 
shock  to  get  the  news.  Dear,  dear !  I  can't  believe 
it  now." 

He  was  not  consoling,  in  his  evident  expectation  of 
the  worst,  but  Pamela  seemed  to  have  strength  enough 
to  combat  his  pessimism.  "  He  will  get  better,"  she 

401 


402        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

said  confidently.  "  He  was  better  this  morning.  To- 
morrow I  am  sure  he  will  be  able  to  see  you." 

Lord  Crowborough  found  it  necessary  to  explain 
why  his  wife  had  been  unable  to  come  with  him.  "  But 
I've  sent  for  Jim,"  he  said.  "  He'll  be  here  to-morrow. 
I  wish  I'd  sent  for  him  before.  Norman  left  Cam- 
bridge this  morning,  he  tells  me." 

She  showed  a  momentary  confusion,  but  said :  "  I 
think  father  will  be  pleased  to  see  Jim  too,  if  he  is  well 
enough.  We're  all  very  fond  of  Jim." 

He  looked  at  her  and  cleared  his  throat  preparatory 
to  some  speech  of  special  meaning,  as  it  seemed;  but 
fortunately  for  her  Lord  and  Lady  Eldridge  came  into 
the  room  before  he  could  utter  it.  Norman  was  with 
them,  and  as  their  elders  engaged  in  greetings  he  and 
Pamela  slipped  away  together. 

They  went  into  Colonel  Eldridge's  room,  which  was 
being  used  now,  perhaps  with  the  idea  of  keeping  it  alive 
and  expectant  of  him.  Norman  took  her  two  hands 
into  his,  and  said :  "  Pam  darling,  it  has  been  you  all 
the  time,  but  I've  only  just  found  it  out." 

She  allowed  her  tears  to  fall  then.  "  I've  wanted 
you  dreadfully,  lately,"  she  said.  "  If  only  father 
gets  better,  we  shall  all  be  very  happy  now." 

That  was  almost  the  extent  of  their  love-making. 
They  had  known  each  other  for  so  long.  What  was  in 
the  mind  of  each  gained  instant  response  from  the  other. 
Pamela  could  take  refuge  from  her  deep  trouble  in  his 
love;  joy  in  their  new  discovery  could  wait. 

The  discovery  itself,  however,  must  not  be  kept  to 
themselves.  Lord  Crowborough  was  the  only  person 


AN  ENDING  AND  A  BEGINNING       403 

whom  it  seemed  somewhat  to  disconcert,  but  he  joined 
with  the  rest  in  the  desire  to  make  it  known  to  Pam- 
ela's father.  They  would  get  his  blessing  upon  it, 
which  would  be  a  happiness  to  them,  to  remember 
in  after  years.  And  it  would  please  and  comfort 
him. 

Lord  Eldridge,  still  cherishing  determined  hope,  ex- 
pected much  from  it.  Whether  he  was  abundantly 
pleased  himself,  or  only  moderately  so,  did  not  appear, 
for  he  seemed  to  accept  it  only  as  it  might  affect  his 
brother.  But  he  did  accept  it;  and  Lady  Eldridge 
made  it  plain  to  Pamela,  with  a  warm  embrace,  what 
it  meant  to  her.  Poor  Mrs.  Eldridge,  who  hardly  left 
the  sickroom  now,  treated  it  as  unimportant.  But 
she  had  greeted  her  sister-in-law  in  a  way  to  show 
that  the  late  estrangement  was  not  now  in  her  mind; 
and  she  no  longer  held  herself  aloof  in  any  way  from 
her  brother-in-law.  Perhaps  unconsciously  she  took 
it  as  bringing  them  all  more  closely  together.  She 
wanted  all  the  support  now  that  family  affection  and 
sympathy  could  give  her. 

Pamela  stood  with  Norman  by  her  father's  bedside 
the  next  morning,  and  he  smiled  at  them  with  full 
knowledge,  and  whispered  a  word  to  her  as  she  kissed 
him.  He  saw  no  one  else  but  his  wife  that  day,  and 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  next  he  died.  All  his  family 
were  around  him,  but  he  did  not  know  them.  There 
was  none  of  whom  he  had  not  already  taken  leave,  and 
he  had  left  them  with  no  trouble  on  his  mind  on  their 
behalf,  except  the  great  sorrow  of  his  loss,  which  time 
would  change  into  a  most  loving  memory. 


404         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

Time  had  already  softened  the  sorrow  when  Spring 
came  treading  its  flowery  way  over  the  gardens  of 
Hayslope  and  the  country  round  them.  If  there  were 
still  tears  shed  at  the  Hall  there  was  sometimes  laughter 
too,  from  the  young  people  whose  life  lay  all  before 
them,  and  on  whom  no  burden  of  loss  could  rest  for- 
ever. And  care  was  lifted  from  the  house,  though  at  a 
very  heavy  price. 

Mrs.  Eldridge  sometimes  asked  herself  if  it  was  pos- 
sible that  she  should  ever  come  to  enjoy  life  again,  the 
question  being  prompted  not  by  the  desire  to  do  so, 
but  by  an  uneasy  suspicion  of  disloyalty  because  she 
was  beginning  to  find  these  bright  soft  spring  days 
pleasant,  in  the  house  and  in  the  garden.  She  need 
not  have  feared,  for  she  never  had  that  sensation  of 
grateful  expectancy  which  is  spring's  message  and 
bright  consolation  without  an  immediate  pang  to  fol- 
low it.  She  had  not  made  herself  his  constant  com- 
panion in  the  comings  and  goings  of  his  days,  but 
never  for  very  long  together  had  she  been  without  the 
sense  of  his  being  there.  When  she  had  most  seemed 
to  be  taking  her  own  way,  her  life  in  its  ultimate  ends 
had  yet  been  lived  with  reference  to  him.  Now  she  had 
to  adopt  a  life  not  so  very  different  from  that  which 
she  had  led  before  at  Hayslope  to  a  new  impulsion. 
The  life  was  pleasant  enough  in  itself,  but  at  present  it 
seemed  to  count  for  nothing.  The  days  came,  ran 
their  quiet  course,  and  ended.  Each  one  carried  her  a 
little  farther  from  the  time  when  she  had  had  him  with 
her.  And  she  would  live  them  for  years  to  come,  with 
nothing  to  look  forward  to.  So  it  seemed  to  her  when 


AN  ENDING  AND  A  BEGINNING        405 

she  thought  about  it;  and  presently  she  found  it  was 
better  not  to  think  about  it,  but  to  take  the  days  as 
they  came.  Then  her  spirit  quieted  itself  by  degrees, 
and  her  grief  became  less  bewildering. 

She  and  Lady  Eldridge  were  close  friends  again  now. 
There  had  been  a  time,  after  her  husband's  death,  when 
she  had  put  it  down  to  the  trouble  through  which  he 
had  gone  on  account  of  his  brother.  Then  she  had 
held  herself  aloof  from  them.  But  the  feeling  had 
faded  away.  What  did  it  matter  now?  He  was  dead. 
Keeping  up  the  quarrel  in  her  mind  would  not  bring  him 
back.  And  he  had  been  so  glad  to  have  it  ended.  He 
had  given  her  and  his  children  over  to  his  brother's 
keeping,  in  solemn  words  to  her,  almost  the  last  of  any 
he  had  spoken.  Her  mind  was  too  tired  to  think  it 
out.  She  just  let  go  of  the  feeling,  and  presently  it 
died. 

William  was  very  good  to  her,  and  she  recognized 
that  his  goodness  came  from  his  love  for  his  brother, 
whose  wishes  in  anything  to  do  with  Hayslope  it  was 
his  guiding  principle  to  follow.  He  took  all  money 
affairs  into  his  hands.  He  had  assured  her  that  the 
substantial  income  she  had  to  spend  was  due  to  her, 
and  not  supplemented  by  him,  except  that  he  asked  her 
to  live  at  the  Hall,  as  long  as  it  suited  her,  and  she 
paid  no  rent  for  it.  He  professed  great  frankness 
with  her,  and  told  her  that  the  lines  upon  which  he 
was  dealing  with  her  income  enabled  him  to  make  more 
of  it.  She  did  not  ask  how  it  was^done;  she  was  con- 
tent, for  herself  and  her  girls,  to  live  quietly  for  the 
present  at  Hayslope,  under  his  protective  influence. 


406        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

They  were  all  one  family  again  now,  though  its  head- 
ship had  shifted. 

One  windy  day  of  early  April,  when  the  daffodils 
were  gleaming  and  swaying  under  the  trees,  and  all  the 
air  was  clean  and  sweet,  Norman  and  Pamela  walked 
together  in  the  garden  and  down  through  the  wood. 
Norman  had  just  come  home  from  Cambridge.  He 
and  Pamela  had  been  very  little  together  since  the  dis- 
covery of  their  love  for  one  another,  under  the  sor- 
row that  had  prompted  it  but  forbidden  that  absorp- 
tion in  themselves  which  is  the  usual  effect  of  such  dis- 
coveries. Perhaps  their  love  was  all  the  deeper  be- 
cause of  the  sorrow.  Pamela  had  clung  to  Norman  in 
her  grief,  and  had  aroused  in  him  the  strongest  emo- 
tion to  pity  and  protection  towards  her.  Their  love 
had  struck  deep  roots  during  that  sad  time. 

Then  had  followed  the  constant  interchange  of  let- 
ters, in  which  all  the  marvellous  phenomena  of  their 
mutual  attraction  had  been  minutely  explored  with  one 
hurried  week-end  visit  from  Norman,  just  to  assure 
himself  that  Pamela  was  real  flesh  and  blood,  and  that 
she  loved  him  as  much  as  she  said  she  did.  Now  they 
would  be  together  for  a  month,  before  Norman's  final 
term  at  Cambridge.  Already  Pamela's  sorrow  had  be- 
come gentler.  They  would  often  talk  very  seriously 
and  soberly  together;  but  they  were  very  young,  and 
they  were  going  to  be  very  happy.  It  would  not  be 
forbidden  them  to  be  light-hearted  during  that  Easter 
vacation. 

They  were  discussing  the  future  now.     It  involved, 


AN  ENDING  AND  A  BEGINNING       407 

immediately,  a  great  deal  of  work  for  Norman's  final 
examinations,  and  a  visit  from  Pamela  to  Cambridge 
when  their  tyranny  should  be  overpast,  and  more  light- 
some pursuits  would  follow.  After  that? 

Well,  Cambridge  term  ends  when  summer  is  still 
young.  Wouldn't  this  be  the  happiest  time  for  a 
honeymoon?  They  would  go  abroad,  to  the  most  beau- 
tiful places  they  could  find,  within  the  restricted  area 
which  the  war  had  left  in  Europe  for  searchers  after 
summer  beauty.  Then  they  would  come  back  to  Eng- 
land, at  the  time  when  England — or  perhaps  Scotland 
— offered  more  than  any  other  country.  And  some 
time  in  the  autumn  they  would  make  a  home  for  them- 
selves, which  gave  them  more  to  talk  about  even  than 
the  prospective  travels. 

Their  first  home  was  to  be  that  Town  Farm  which 
Colonel  Eldridge  had  so  wished  he  could  afford  to  re- 
store for  his  own  occupation.  The  visits  of  the  best 
available  architect,  and  consultation  over  plans,  would 
very  pleasurably  occupy  the  weeks  of  the  vacation. 
The  work  would  go  on  while  they  were  abroad,  and  be 
finished  in  the  late  summer,  if  the  conditions  of  the 
building  trade  permitted.  Then  there  would  be  the 
house  to  furnish,  and  the  garden  to  make  anew.  Here 
was  something  to  dwell  upon ! 

But  Pamela  had  a  trifle  of  doubt  in  the  corner  of  her 
mind.  "  Of  course  it  will  be  perfectly  heavenly  living 
there  together,"  she  said.  "  But  I  shouldn't  like  you 
to  lead  an  altogether  idle  life." 

He  laughed  at  her.  "  Darling  old  thing !  "  he  said. 
"  I  shall  be  as  busy  as  the  day  is  long.  I  had  a  talk 


408         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

with  father  last  night,  which  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about ; 
but  there  are  so  many  things  to  say  that  you've  just 
got  to  take  them  as  they  come.  He  says  I  needn't 
work  with  the  idea  of  earning  my  living.  It  seems  that 
he  has  been  watching  me,  when  I  thought  he  was  so 
busy  about  other  things  that  I  was  out  of  the  orbit  of 
his  eagle  eye.  I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  you  this  with- 
out blushing ;  but  he  says  that  if  I'd  shown  myself  any 
sort  of  a  waster  he'd  have  dumped  me  down  on  an  office 
stool  and  seen  that  I  stuck  to  it,  or  made  me  do  some- 
thing equally  beastly  until  I'd  made  good  for  myself. 
He  was  quite  frank,  as  only  a  father  can  be,  and  said 
that  he  had  sometimes  thought  I  was  a  bit  too  passion- 
ate in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure.  But  he'd  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  on  the  whole  I  had  made  whatever  I 
had  to  do  for  the  time  being  the  chief  thing.  So  he 
thought  I  could  be  trusted  not  to  abuse  the  freedom 
he  was  going  to  give  me.  And  this  is  where  you  blush, 
Pam — he  thought  you  were  just  the  right  sort  of  girl 
to  temper  my  wayward  tendencies.  He  wasn't  sure 
what  I  could  do  best  in  the  world,  because  I  seemed  to 
like  doing  such  lots  of  things  that  if  he  gained  an  idea 
of  anything  special  one  moment  he  had  to  give  it  up  the 
next.  But  with  you  to  steady  me,  I  ought  to  be  able 
to  do  something.  He's  a  wise  bird — the  Lord  Eld- 
ridge  of  Hayslope.  He  knows  how  happy  we  are  going 
to  be  together,  and  he's  going  to  let  us  be  as  happy  as 
ever  we  can.  Make  people  happy,  and  you'll  make 
'em  good." 

"  He  has  been  very  good  to  us,"  said  Pamela.     "  I 
wasn't  quite  sure  that  he  was  really  pleased,  at  first. 


AN  ENDING  AND  A  BEGINNING       409 

It  was  very  sweet  of  him  to  talk  like  that  about  me. 
I'm  sure  there  are  heaps  of  things  you  will  do,  darling, 
better  than  other  people;  and  you  know  I'll  do  every 
mortal  thing  I  can  to  help  you.  Uncle  Bill  shan't  be 
disappointed  in  me." 

"  Adorable  angel,"  said  Norman.  "  Father's  as 
pleased  as  he  can  be  about  us.  He  said  he  saw  it  com- 
ing all  the  time.  So  did  mother.  It  seems  so  extra- 
ordinary that  we  didn't." 

The  conversation  then  took  a  lighter  turn.  Pamela 
threw  a  quick  look  at  him,  and  said :  "  Well,  you  were 
rather  busy  looking  out  for  somebody  else,  weren't  you  ? 
I  often  used  to  wonder  who  it  would  be,  and  I'm  bound 
to  say  that  I  never  thought  it  would  be  me.  I  can't  be 
blamed.  It  would  have  looked  so  very  unlikely." 

"  Now,  Pam,  we've  had  that  out  before.  If  I  hadn't 
told  you  all  about  all  of  them  as  they  came  and  went — 
especially  as  they  went — I  might  be  inclined  to  wince  at 
your  reminder.  But  I  suppose  you  only  want  me  to 
say  again  that  I  could  never  have  loved  anybody  but 
you  for  more  than  a  few  minutes,  and  that  what  I  felt 
for  all  those  charmers  put  together  wasn't  a  drop  in 
the  ocean  compared  to  what  I  feel  for  you.  Oh,  Lord ! 
What  a  discovery  it  was !  Pam  darling,  could  I  have 
just  one?  It  would  be  such  a  refreshment." 

There  was  a  short  interlude,  and  then  Pam  said: 
"  I  don't  think  I  really  feel  jealous  about  Margaret 
and  Company — Unlimited.  It  will  give  us  something 
to  talk  about  in  future  years.  Still,  I'm  glad  that  I 
didn't  go  about  falling  in  love  myself." 

"  So  am  I,  darling.     But  people  would  soon  have 


410         THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

begun  to  fall  in  love  with  you.  There  was  poor  old 
Jim  already." 

She  turned  her  head  away,  and  a  blush  came  to  her 
face.  "  I'd  rather  that  you  didn't  talk  about  him  and 
me  like  that,"  she  said.  "  For  one  thing,  he  will  al- 
most certainly  marry  Judith  some  day." 

"  I  suppose  so.  How  are  they  getting  on  together? 
Has  he  been  over  since  he  came  down  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It's  rather  touching  to  see  them.  Poor  little 
Ju!  She  has  been  frightfully  sad,  and  she's  kept  it 
so  much  to  herself.  Jim  seems  to  have  just  the  right 
way  with  her.  She  talks  about  father  to  him,  I  know. 
And  he  was  so  nice  about  us,  Norman.  I  think  there's 
something  really  fine  about  Jim,  and  we've  been  rather 
prigs  about  him.  He  hasn't  got  our  sort  of  inter- 
ests; but  Judith  hasn't  either,  and  nobody  could  call 
her  dull.  Jim  is  simple  in  a  large  sort  of  way;  and 
it's  a  very  good  quality." 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  is.  And  he  has  behaved  well,  for 
it  must  have  been  a  bit  of  a  knock  for  him  to  come  and 
find  you  and  me  as  we  were.  You  do  think  he  and 
Judy  will  fix  it  up  between  them,  do  you?  " 

"Not  yet.  But  I  think  it  will  come.  They're 
rather  like  you  and  me.  Each  of  them  is  what  the 
other  wants,  and  they'll  find  it  out  all  of  a  sudden." 

"  What  has  become  of  Mr.  Fred  Comf rey,  Pam  ?  I 
haven't  seen  him  since  father  found  out  what  sort  of  a 
fellow  he  was,  and  wouldn't  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  him." 

Her  face  grew  shadowed  again.  "  He  doesn't  come 
here,"  she  said.  "  Mrs.  Comfrey  thinks  it  is  my  fault. 


AN  ENDING  AND  A  BEGINNING       411 

At  least,  she'll  hardly  speak  to  me;  and  I  suppose  it 
is  that.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  ought  not  to  have  given 
him  my  answer  myself,  instead  of  leaving  it  to  Daddy." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child,  it  was  infernal  impudence  of 
him  to  think  about  you  at  all — a  creature  like  that ! " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  have  always  been  right  about 
him.  But  he  showed  his  best  side  to  me.  There  was  a 
lot  that  was  good  and  kind  in  him." 

"  Nobody  is  all  bad,  I  suppose ;  and  even  a  beast 
like  that  rises  to  something,  when  he's  thinking  about 
somebody  else,  and  not  always  about  himself.  The 
trouble  is,  though,  that  it  doesn't  always  last.  I've 
seen  it  in  marriages  made  in  a  hurry  during  the  war. 
What's  so  heavenly  about  us,  Pam,  is  that  we  do  know 
each  other;  and  yet  there's  always  something  new, 
somehow.  I  don't  believe  there's  anybody  in  the  world 
loves  somebody  else  more  than  I  love  you.  And  I  love 
you  more  and  more  every  day.  I  may  have  made  one 
or  two  half-hearted  experiments  before,  but  there  was 
never  anything  like  this." 

"  Not  even  when  Margaret  said  *  Good-bye,  Nor- 
man '  ?  " 

'*  That  was  a  thrill,  I  admit.  But  what  a  faint 
thrill,  after  all!  Nothing  like  what  I  get  every  time 
you  come  into  a  room.  But  there's  something  more 
than  thrills  in  it.  The  thrills  are  only  the  ripples  on 
the  surface.  The  real  love  is  the  quiet  deep  water 
underneath.  That's  what  we've  got,  darling.  It  will 
last  us  all  our  lives." 

They  had  come  down  to  Barton's  Close,  where  the 
thick  grass  had  already  hidden  all  signs  of  the  dis- 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

turbance  to  which  it  had  been  subjected.  They  found 
a  bank  on  the  edge  of  it  bright  with  primroses,  upon 
which  the  sun  was  shining,  and  sat  there  for  a  time. 
Looking  over  the  rich  green  carpet  of  the  meadow, 
it  was  natural  that  they  should  fall  into  talk  of  the 
disturbances  that  had  had  their  rise  here;  for  there 
was  no  subject  that  they  shirked,  and  this  one  had 
affected  them  deeply. 

"  Of  course  it  was  nothing  in  itself,"  Norman  said. 
*'  If  it  hadn't  been  for  an  accident  here  and  there,  they 
would  have  settled  it  at  once.  Father  says  that.  It 
began  with  their  writing  letters  to  one  another,  in- 
stead of  talking  it  over.  Then  when  they  did  talk  the 
quarrel  had  gone  too  far." 

"  Does  Uncle  Bill  talk  about  it  still?  " 

"  He  talked  about  it  yesterday.  He  feels  it  very 
much  still." 

"Poor  Uncle  Bill!  But  I've  thought  about  it  a 
lot,  and  I  don't  love  him  any  less  because  of  it.  If  he 
weren't  sorry  about  it  himself,  I  suppose  it  would  make 
a  difference.  But  I  know  he  did  love  my  darling 
Daddy ;  they  loved  one  another  underneath  it  all.  They 
both  knew  it  at  the  last.  When  father  couldn't  speak 
any  more,  and  Uncle  Bill  took  my  hand  in  his,  and 
said  he  would  look  after  me  and  all  of  us,  I  could  tell 
by  the  way  he  looked  at  him  that  that  was  what  he 
wanted.  Oh,  they  did  love  one  another,  I  know.  If 
only  that  quarrel  hadn't  come  between  them,  almost  at 
the  last!  Why  do  people  quarrel  who  love  one 
another?  " 

"  I  think  that  we  ought  not  to  make  too  much  of  it, 


AN  ENDING  AND  A  BEGINNING       413 

Pam  darling.  I've  thought  about  it  too.  It's  be- 
cause poor  Uncle  Edmund  died  that  it  seems  so  im- 
portant. If  he  had  lived  they  would  have  made  it  up. 
They  couldn't  have  helped  themselves,  because  of  what 
they  really  were  to  one  another.  Then  it  would  all 
have  been  forgotten  very  quickly;  and  I  should  think 
they  would  both  have  been  careful  that  it  shouldn't 
happen  again." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  that's  true.  But  it  just  shows 
that  it  doesn't  do  for  people  who  love  one  another  to 
let  themselves  quarrel  at  all.  We  never  will,  will  we  ?  " 

They  agreed  upon  that,  and  upon  many  other 
things.  Then  they  walked  slowly  back  to  the  Hall 
together,  hand  in  hand  part  of  the  way.  Miss  Bald- 
win, from  her  watch  tower  of  the  schoolroom  window, 
saw  them  under  the  trees  before  they  came  out  on  to 
the  lawn  as  separate  units.  She  had  seen  few  signs 
of  the  emotion  she  had  craved  for  between  them,  and  to 
catch  that  glimpse  of  them  together  pleased  her.  It 
was  the  right  ending  of  the  story  whose  vicissitudes 
she  had  watched  with  such  interest.  Its  later  chap- 
ters had  been  sadder  than  she  had  anticipated,  and  her 
sympathies  had  of  late  been  more  human  than  literary 
with  the  family  with  whom  she  lived.  But  the  shadow 
of  loss  seemed  to  be  lifting,  in  these  sunny  spring  days. 
It  was  not  forbidden  to  her  now  to  weave  her  tales 
around  them.  Already  she  scented  another  absorbing 
romance  to  unfold  itself  before  her  eyes.  And  with 
this  one,  the  interest  of  which  she  might  have  expected 
to  come  to  an  end  with  the  approaching  pealing  of 
wedding  bells,  she  found  herself  still  looking  forward. 


414        THE  HALL  AND  THE  GRANGE 

For  if  you  could  take  leave  of  the  heroes  and  heroines 
of  fiction  at  the  church  door,  with  no  wish  to  follow 
their  fortunes  further,  it  was  not  so  with  those  with 
whom  you  had  come  to  feel  a  living  sympathy.  For 
them  a  new  story  was  beginning,  from  which  as  much 
happiness  was  to  be  looked  for  as  from  the  one  that 
had  led  up  to  it. 


THE    END 


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